


Groundhog Dave

by letsprayitwritesitself



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2018-11-02 01:26:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10934109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letsprayitwritesitself/pseuds/letsprayitwritesitself
Summary: Davey's a producer sent out with forecaster Jack and cameraman Crutchie to cover the Groundhog Day festivities in Punx. PA, and he just wants it to be over already. The universe has other ideas, and he's forced to live February 2nd over, and over, and over... and over again. You know the drill.





	1. Prologue

It wasn’t that he thought he was _better_ than these anti-climactic, backwater Groundhog Day broadcasts, it was just that… they were _stepping stones,_ that was the best way to look at it. Something that he had to do in order to climb the career ladder over at the station. If he could show the big dogs that he was able to use his unique perspective and good work ethic even on these time-filler bullshit holiday things, maybe they’d see that he could be trusted with the serious stuff. 

That said, “dreading” might be a strong word for Davey’s attitude towards his fourth annual trip to Punx. PA, but he wasn’t looking forward to it one little bit. Just him, his cameraman Crutchie, and the new forecaster, Jack Kelly, whose constant chipper attitude was likely intended to be uplifting but could easily become grating if he pushed it.

‘It’s adorable! You kidding me?’ Jack leaned forward from the back seat of the car, turning to grin at Davey and Crutchie who sat in front. 

They’d just turned into Punxsatawney and yeah sure, it had a slight charm, until you stayed here for longer than ten seconds and realised you couldn’t get an uber, or a Chipotle, or free public wi-fi. Then it got real old real fast.

‘That won’t last. They don’t even have Starbucks here.’ Davey didn’t want to be the fun sponge, but he didn’t want to be too taken in by Jack’s charm, either. Jack had only been at the station three weeks and it seemed like he had every cameraman, hair and make-up assistant, electrician, and sound engineer eating out of the palm of his hand. Davey was reticent. Not that he didn’t like Jack, but he’d grown up a lanky, socially awkward bookworm, and he couldn’t help resenting that kind of effortless confidence a little. Why did some people find it so easy?

‘No, they got a diner! Like, a real mom and pop thing!’ Jack pointed out through the windshield as they drove past it. He was like a puppy. Or a child. Crutchie matched Jack’s mood, but then, Crutchie was generally the optimist too.

‘Dave’s got a thing about places where you can’t use Google Maps,’ he told Jack, like that explained everything.

‘I just think nostalgia’s overrated!’ Davey protested weakly. ‘But don’t let me ruin your fun.’ The town was that small that almost as soon as they’d passed the _You Are In_ sign, they were at their bed and breakfast.

‘Okay, you’ve gotta be kidding me.’

Davey raised his eyebrows. Was Jack about to be _not_ completely and unapologetically positive about something?

‘ _This is the cutest fucking hotel I’ve ever seen!’_

//

‘Okay, here are your room keys.’ Davey headed over to where Jack and Crutchie were waiting in the lobby. ‘I’m in room 8 if you guys need me for anything, and we’re gonna meet in the square at 7am for the broadcast tomorrow. Sound good?’

‘You not joining us for dinner, Davey?’ Jack almost sounded disappointed, but Davey knew he’d be over it fast.

‘Nah, I need to get an early night. Get some research done.’

‘I thought the groundhog was taking care of the research for us?’

‘I…’ He squinted at jack. 

‘C’mon, Dave, can’t you pretend this is kinda like a vacation?’ Crutchie, again with the diplomacy. ‘There’s that great little place on the corner we can go to?’

‘Yeah, the town’s one restaurant.’ Davey sighed. ‘No, really. I have a bunch of work to do before the thing, for all our post-groundhog broadcasts, if you can imagine.’

‘Your loss!’ Jack punched Crutchie’s shoulder and picked up his suitcase. ‘C’mon, Crutchie. Punx. is our erster!’

‘Our what?’

Davey watched them ascend the stairs and started to follow. He hated that pressure to go out and _do stuff_ all the time. If people weren’t so insistent on socialising every day then he wouldn’t have to feel so bad about staying in and working, or reading. But such was life. Actually, such was television. Being surrounded by big personalities made him wonder why he got into this thing in the first place, but it was those blasts of jealousy he got when he saw a particularly hard-hitting, poignant feature, or a beautifully executed gut-wrenching news piece, that fuelled him through this career blip of grey area.

If four years could constitute a blip.

He collapsed down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. If you’d told twenty-two year old Davey in his graduation cap and gown, beaming ear to ear while thinking about his bright future, that _yeah_ he’d have an okay-paying position at a decent news station in the heart of Philly., but a position that involved mostly editing old footage and rehashing old scripts for his directors every day, with the _one single project_ he got to lead being one involving a _talking beaver_ that went the same way every year so they may as well use the old tape anyway instead of driving all the way to Buttfuck PA in the cold - well, maybe he wouldn’t be so keen to get out into the real world.

He _tried_ to have a positive attitude. But as far as he was concerned, a positive attitude could just mean showing up on time every day and doing what he was told. Didn’t necessarily mean being happy about it. (Or being Jack Kelly about it.)

On cue, there was a thump on his door. Jack’s voice sailed through.

‘You know where to find us if you change your mind, Jacobs!’

He sat up in bed but didn’t reply. Tomorrow couldn’t be over fast enough.


	2. Day One

At 6am sharp Davey was jolted awake from his suspiciously pleasant sleep. His motel bed was almost too cosy, about ten feet high with a duvet that seemed intent on smothering him. He must have been more tired than he thought.

The clock radio started blaring the local forecast to keep him company as he forced himself out of bed, trying to motivate himself with the idea that if a job was worth doing it was worth doing well and blah blah blah.

_That’s right woodchuck chuckers, it’s Groundhog Day!_

He scowled at the radio over his shoulder as he shuffled into the bathroom, thinking that he maybe had two or three years left of this before February 2nd was ruined for him forever. He’d be eighty, in his retirement home, staring out the window and muttering to himself: _that’s right woodchuck chuckers, that’s right woodchuck chuckers…_

Could he do this again? He remembered thinking a year ago that three Groundhog Days had been a bit much. Now four? What if the execs just expected him to, because he’d never said no? He could walk into the studio tomorrow, look his boss in the face and say “No more.”

Could he?

He was a good producer. He knew it. He could do way better than this.

But if that was true then why did they keep assigning it to him?

This internal struggle didn’t make him any more excited to deal with the day’s festivities so he walked to the square in a daze, squinting through the brisk sunlight at the millions of people who seemed intent on wishing every stranger they passed a happy Groundhog Day.

Jack and Crutchie had beat him there and were watching the celebrations with amusement - Davey would tell it was their first time. He greeted them with a grimace as a particularly loud accordion assaulted his ears.

‘Morning sunshine!’ Jack grinned at him, shuffling from foot to foot to try and keep warm. His cheeks were red from the cold and it struck Davey for a moment (just a moment, mind) as adorable. He got over that fast. 

‘Hey, guys, we ready for this thing?’

‘We’re all good to go, we’ve checked the link with the studio in Philly, due to start in about five.’ Crutchie had the knack of keeping his own optimism while being sympathetic to Davey’s lack thereof, and he’d always appreciate that about working with him. ‘Then we’re back on the road and home by eleven, sound good?’

‘Sounds great, thanks Crutchie. Jack, you ready?’

‘Born ready. Can’t believe how eager you guys are to blow this place. Don’t you love being out of the city just a little?’

Davey pulled a face.

‘That’s a no, then… no explanation? Or do you just like being controversial?’ Jack smiled as he said this, somewhere between genuinely curious and deliberately provocative. 

‘Alright. My whole life is in the city. I come here, it’s full of strangers, it’s too quiet at night, and there’s a million reminders that I’m still at the lowest point in my career. Meanwhile my superiors are laughing at me in Philly.’

Jack raised his eyebrows. Davey hadn’t meant to say that much. He cleared his throat. 

‘How about you - why are  you so happy to be here?’

‘It’s just nice to see all these people celebrating for next to no reason, y’know? Getting together with their neighbours, dancing in the streets. Heck, I don’t know what my neighbours are even called back home. Don’t you think it’s sweet?’

‘I think… If this is all that these people want, and that’s what makes them happy, then I’m happy for them. But also, no thanks.’ Davey shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced up at the bandstand, where the festivities were starting. Crutchie hoisted his camera up onto his shoulder and addressed Jack. 

‘Alright, Jack, we’re on in five… four… three… two…’ Jack adopted that grin again and lifted his mic up.

‘Once a year the eyes of the nation turn to this tiny hamlet in western Pennsylvania to watch a master at work. The master? Punxsutawney Phil, the world’s most famous weatherman - the groundhog! Who, as legend has it, can predict the coming of an early spring! Which means the question we’re all asking ourselves today is: does Phil feel lucky?’ Davey shot Jack a tight-lipped smile and a thumbs up, and Jack nodded in return before turning around.

Even Davey had to smirk as the emcee pulled Punxsutawney Phil out of his trapdoor. The little guy had a bewildered, wide-eyed look on his squished face, kind of like he’d been forced out of bed for this bullshit tradition, and this made Davey feel like they were on the same level. Jack caught him smiling when he turned around to exclaim ‘He’s so cute!’ and he quickly rearranged his features into an expression of distant supervision. 

‘This February 2nd, at 7:20 and thirty seconds,’ the emcee started reading from a theatrical scroll, ‘Punxsutawney Phil, the seer of seers, prognosticator of prognosticator, emerged reluctantly, but alertly…’ Jack turned round again to point at Davey, prompting another smirk. ‘… in Punxsutawney PA, and stated in groundhog-ese, “I definitely see a shadow.” Sorry folks, six more weeks of winter!’

Crutchie cast the camera over the disappointed crowd, who were voicing their upset at what the talking beaver had told them.

‘You ready for your sign off, Jack?’ Davey was really trying to not join in with the disappointment, the idea that this trip would have been any less of a waste of time if the groundhog had delivered good news. Jack nodded and lifted the mic again while Crutchie got into position.

‘Three… two…’

‘Well, there you have it folks! Not the outcome the people of Punx were hoping for but you, uh, you can’t argue with science! From Punxsutawney PA I’ve been Jack Kelly, back to you in the studio!’

‘Awesome, amazing, we’re done here.’ A sudden gust of icy wind chilled them and a low murmur of awe spread through the crowd. Snow started to fall. Jack, typically, let out a laugh and held his hands up to catch some.

‘It’s snowing!’

Davey bit back the impulse to say _no shit, Sherlock,_ knowing it would only make him sound (and feel) like an asshole.

‘I didn’t think we were expecting snow?’

‘We weren’t, really, not yet anyway! Thought we’d be home by the time it started.’

‘We should get a move on, then, I don’t want it disrupting any of our travel.’

‘Can we stop for coffee? And breakfast?’

‘We can _pause_ for coffee and breakfast.’

//

It was Jack’s damn caramel macchiato that did it. If he’d been normal and ordered a black coffee like Davey, or even tea like Crutchie, they would have been out of that damn coffee shop easily three or four minutes faster, and might have just missed this truck blocking the only tunnel out of Punx. The snow was falling heavily now, almost obscuring the road ahead, but Davey knew the route, and was keen enough to escape that place that he would have driven through a tornado.

‘Sucks that Phil couldn’t have told us about this, huh?’ Jack leaned forward from the back seat. Davey glared at him.

‘You’re literally a forecaster, Jack.’

‘It’s my day off! God, the one day I let a groundhog do my job, and this happens!’ He didn’t look particularly sorry.

‘Crutchie, can you flag down that cop and see what’s going on?’

Crutchie rolled down the window just enough to call out to the officer, who came over and spoke through the six inch gap. Davey wanted to talk but had a feeling his bad mood would get the better of him, so let Crutchie.

‘Morning officer, could you help us out a little?’

‘’Fraid not, fellas, we’re closing the road. There’s a blizzard.’

It was getting harder for Davey to bite his tongue.

‘What time we looking at re-opening it?’ Crutchie continued on his behalf. ‘We’re all due back in Philly and I think my producer’s gonna have a nervous breakdown if he doesn’t see a skyscraper in the next three hours.’

‘Hard to say, kids. Could be later today, could be a week. All depends on what the storm feels like doing!’

‘And there’s no way you could just… let us through?’ Davey leaned across Crutchie’s seat. As he said it, he knew it was a dumb question, but he had to ask.

‘Absolutely not. Roads are getting icy as hell and visibility is near zero. Nope, I cannot in good conscience let you continue. Best thing to do is turn around and get yourself a nice bowl of soup at Lily’s. Hunker down. It’s gonna be a cold one.’ He tapped the roof of the van good-naturedly and walked away to deliver the news around. There was a moment of heavy silence in the van before Jack spoke.

‘Well, look on the -’

‘Please. Please don’t tell me to look on the bright side.’

Jack stared at him for a moment before retreating back. ‘I wasn’t. I was going to say… Look at the silver lining!’ Crutchie snickered unhelpfully from the passenger seat. Davey leaned forward and rested his forehead on the steering wheel.

//

‘So _now_ will you come hang out with us, see what Punx has to offer?’

They sat in the diner, watching the snow fall in sheets outside. Jack and Davey nursed cups of coffee in a window booth while Crutchie sat up at the counter, engaging the fry cook in wholesome banter. Davey had just spoken to the network, who had told the three of them to stay safe and take as long as they need - and hadn’t, unfortunately, offered to send a copter or a private jet to rescue them. He didn’t _like_ the feeling of being a stick in the mud, but it was hard to force a positive attitude when he felt like the universe was conspiring against him.

‘I’ve seen what Punx has to offer. So have you. This is it.’

‘Jeez, Davey! What have I got to do to get you to crack a smile?’

‘I’m sorry.’

Jack seemed a little taken aback at the apology.

‘What for?’

‘I know I’m being an asshole. I just really, _really_ hate this place.’

‘How about a drink?’ Jack raised his eyebrows, ready to be a little sympathetic now he knew the unpleasantness wasn’t just Davey’s personality.

‘How about nine or ten drinks?’

‘You’re on.’


	3. Day Two

At six am sharp Davey was jolted from his suspiciously pleasant sleep. He reached out and whacked the alarm clock and took a second to remember why he was still in this fucking hotel room. The groundhog. The blizzard. The bar.

Oh god, the bar. He’d had so much to drink. Jack had convinced him that the best way to deal with being stuck in Punx another day was to drown his sorrows, make their own fun - and he’d had a point. But each drink Davey had made the next seem like a better idea and he distinctly remembered not being able to walk in a straight line by the end of it. Oh god, his hangover was going to descend any second. Any second. Any… second?

He sat up in bed. Why did he feel so okay? He had been hammered. Usually he couldn’t move his head too fast without the world spinning and he tended to spend mornings like this feeling incredibly sorry for himself. But today his head was clear, his stomach felt _fine._ Weird. Good weird, but weird.

The radio sang.

_That’s right woodchuck chuckers, it’s Groundhog Day!_

He stared at it, quizzical. They’d replayed yesterday’s broadcast by mistake. Amateurs. That was the kind of ting he’d had anxiety dreams about when he first started at the studio, the fact that when you were a producer your mistakes tended to be incredibly public. He imagined that at lease the audience of this radio show probably totalled less people than you could fit on a school bus. 

He climbed out of bed, letting the radio continue with its mirror of yesterday’s broadcast. They hadn’t made concrete travel plans yet but he was hoping that they could be on the road in the next hour or so, meaning they’d be in Philly by lunch and only would have missed a morning of work. Hopefully Jack would be too hungover to speak, making it a peaceful journey.

Last night had been nice, in a way. Davey knew that when he was in a bad mood he couldn’t help but cast a shadow over everything and when he realised he was stuck for the night (and when, of course, he got his second and third beers in him) he let himself relax and be taken in a little by Jack’s charm. Crutchie retired after one drink, citing exhaustion, so they got to know each other, and he found out that Jack was an artist who took up a career in meteorology because it helped him make sense of the universe, a statement which had taken Davey aback somewhat. 

Maybe the words ‘So you’re not just a pretty face,’ had come out, meant to be a joke, but as soon as he said them he realised that Jack actually did have a rather pretty face. Who knew. When he’d said it Jack had raised his eyebrows and Davey was just sober enough to be embarrassed, spluttering out ‘What? Just a saying! Do you want another drink?’

He had headed up to the bar to get another round in, and the sexy bartender had laughed at him, dark eyes crinkling, and asked ‘Date going well?’

‘It’s not a date!’

‘That’s why you’re blushing?’

‘Oh jesus, am I?’ He’d felt his cheek with the back of his hand. ‘I accidentally called him pretty.’

‘Uh oh. Better have these on the house.’ He grinned as he handed them over. ‘And relax. I know if you called me pretty I definitely wouldn’t mind.’ Davey looked down at the beer and back up at the bartender. Again, he _was_ pretty - but this wasn’t a habit Davey wanted to get into, just telling every attractive guy that. He picked them up and stammered out a thanks before heading back.

Thankfully Jack didn’t acknowledge the compliment when he sat back down, instead directing the conversation back to work. They stayed until last orders and took the scenic route back to the hotel, through snowy parks and side streets, marvelling at how they could just walk around at night without fear of being stabbed. 

Once back, as they stood outside their rooms, Jack had said ‘You know, you’re more fun than you let on, Jacobs.’

And Davey had thrown up.

Well, he’d opened his mouth to reply, felt his stomach lurch, clamped a hand over his mouth and then ran into his room to throw up. Jack had followed, and after five minutes of intermittently rubbing Davey’s back and laughing at him, had let himself be evicted, leaving Davey to collapse into bed.

As he remembered these events the next morning his un-hungover state made less and less sense. He remembered falling straight into bed, not getting changed, not washing his face - and yet he felt fine. Better than fine. Good, even.

And he was in his pyjamas? Had he woken in the night and unconsciously changed?

He headed down, thinking that he’d have breakfast here and if he didn’t see Jack and Crutchie, he’d knock on their doors in about half an hour and drag them by the ear to the van. The hotel owner, a sweet old lady called Mrs. Bloom, greeted him as he sat down. 

‘Happy Groundhog Day!’

‘Happy - what?’ How many days was this holiday?

‘Surprised you’re not heading down to the square, the announcement will be any minute now!’

He checked his watch. 7am.

‘i saw your friends head down there already, with the camera. Gotta get there early if you want a good spot!’

‘I… My friends? Left?’

‘To the square! Whole town’ll be there! Coffee or tea?’

‘Oh - neither, I guess.’ He stood up. ‘I suppose I should get to the square.’

Why would Jack and Crutchie go to the square the day after Groundhog Day? Even if this holiday was suddenly multiple days, they had only planned to go on one morning. And they went without telling him? He didn’t throw this power around but he was their producer, it was up to him what they, well, produced. 

He walked to the square in a daze, along with the rest of the town, all of whom appeared in high spirits. How did he not know that they were continuing the celebrations? Especially after the damn groundhog said that winter would be continuing? The square was abuzz, music and dancing and laughter, like the day before had never even happened. He found Jack and Crutchie in the exact same spot as the day before.

‘Morning sunshine!’ Jack greeted him with the same grin. Davey looked around.

‘Didn’t we… do this? Aren’t we done?’

They stared at him.

‘You alright, Davey?’ Crutchie asked tentatively as Davey glanced around wildly.

‘This - we did this! The thing, the groundhog saw his shadow!’

‘Spoilers!’ Jack punched him in the shoulder.

‘I think you’re getting mixed up there, Davey. Are you remembering last year?’

‘What day is it?’ Davey checked - he had to check, even though it felt dumb.

‘Groundhog day! Surprised you have to ask!’

Davey glared at Jack. ‘Right. I think I’m having deja vu. Really, really freaking badly. I just… _Really_ feel like we did this already.’

‘’Fraid not,’ Crutchie smiled sympathetically. ‘Still gotta do it.’

‘Right.’

The celebrations started on stage and Jack began his broadcast, exactly the same as before - but not before? Davey _remembered_ it happening. Jack’s effortless charm on the camera, the groundhog ruining everyone’s day, the - the snow?

Because last year had been a different forecaster - it had been Jack’s predecessor, Darcy. So how could he remember Jack doing it? Had it been a vivid dream? Nightmare?

But the emcee was now announcing that it was ‘February 2nd, at 7:20 and thirty seconds.’ 

So today was February 2nd. 

And yesterday was… a false memory. Or he’d had a stroke and forgotten an entire year between this and last Groundhog Day? 

Right on cue after the broadcast snow started to fall. Jack lifted his hands up to catch it.

‘It’s snowing!’

‘We should get on the road.’ Davey remembered the day before (the one that may or may not have happened) and the blizzard that had stopped them getting out of town.

‘Can we stop for breakfast?’

‘No.’

//

It still happened. They pulled up to a blocked off tunnel and snow they couldn’t see through.

_This had definitely happened._

‘We can’t get out.’

‘It might just be temporary?’ Crutchie peered through the window.

‘I don’t think they’re letting anyone out til it stops.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I just… know.’

‘So, another night in this adorable place, right?’ Jack piped up. Davey sighed and leaned forward to rest his head on the steering wheel.

//

As he sat in the diner with Jack he tried to logically deconstruct why he could swear that today had already happened. He _knew_ all of it. He knew that the groundhog would see its shadow, he knew that the tunnel was going to be blocked, and he knew that he would end up sitting exactly here, in the diner, next to the fogged up windows, talking to Jack.

The first thing he thought of was the movie Final Destination. How the kid had the premonition and was able to change the course of events, because he’d _seen_ them happen. And then all his friends had died. Maybe not where Davey wanted to be finding similarities. But it felt like the same thing - it felt like he had experienced the day, and maybe given a chance to do it again. And yes, he had failed to get them out of punx before the blizzard hit, but he could still change the course of the days potential events, if he wanted to.

Did he want to? The day before had turned out surprisingly… okay. It was nice getting to know Jack last night (or whenever.) He had thought of the _You’re funner than you let on, Jacobs,_ multiple times while getting showered and dressed that morning. But had that really happened? The Jack that he was sitting here with didn’t know that all of that had already played out, at least, in Davey’s mind _(or wherever.)_ So he wouldn’t know that this was Davey’s second draft of the same day. He could maybe slow down a little on the drinks, not throw up in front of Jack. But then if he didn’t get as drunk, maybe he wouldn’t have the same fascinating conversations with him.

He would maybe try and skip the calling him pretty thing.

‘So _now_ will you come hang out with us, see what Punx has to offer?’

Davey stared at Jack, who was eyeing him cautiously, like he was about to get scolded for daring to ask. Part of him wanted to get straight to bed, just so he could wake up on February 3rd and write this weird feeling off as a stress-induced manic episode or something. The other part liked having the chance to prove to Jack that he wasn’t a stick in the mud.

‘Yeah. Why not.'


	4. Day Three

At 6am sharp Davey was jolted from his suspiciously pleasant sleep. He remembered the night before, getting drunk in the bar with Jack. He remembered the night before _that,_ getting drunk in the bar with Jack. He remembered them both, distinctly and separately, as two completely different nights.

And he knew that something was really, really fucked up.

He muttered along with the radio as he sat, unbelieving, on the side of the bed, staring glassy-eyed at the intricate vomit green and sludge brown patterns of the carpet. This was happening - he knew, he _knew_ that February 2nd had already happened twice, but how could he prove it? He had only his memories to go off.

It was like a long, overly drawn out practical joke that the people of Punx plus Jack and Crutchie had decided to play on him - all re-enacting the same day, wearing the same clothes, walking to the square at the same time and in the same order while insisting that it was Groundhog Day. If his iPhone didn’t confirm the date for him he would half expect Ashton Kutcher or someone to jump out at him during the broadcast and half a dozen hidden cameras to reveal themselves. 

As such he couldn’t reconcile himself with the reality of the day. It was like he was watching his own memories through a VR headset, like if he reached out to touch a lamppost or a pedestrian his hand would pass right through them.

The night before with Jack had been frustratingly similar to the one before.  He hadn’t been able to hold back on the drinking, in fact, his anxiety at trying to improve the first night had translated into treating his pint glass like a crutch, sipping whenever a beat of silence dared appear. He managed to not call Jack pretty, instead settling for a ‘Hmm, wow’ when he said the thing about making sense of the universe. This did not stop him focusing for another moment on how pretty Jack actually was (it may have actually forced him to think of it, that attempted avoidance of acknowledging it) but he figured that he was only human, and it wasn’t exactly a full-blown infatuation or anything, more just... aesthetic appreciation. So he still blushed as he headed back up to the bar for his round, prompting the same remarks from the sexy bartender, the same free drinks. 

It was at this point he decided to let the night roll over him, reliving it all - the conversations, the ramble home, the vomiting, If he tried this again, he would plan ahead better. Spreadsheets, maybe a powerpoint. Definitely at least one flowchart.

So, the absence of a hangover was his first clue that today was his third February 2nd. The next was the radio broadcast. And now, the walk into town.

‘Morning sunshine!’

He stared at Jack. ‘Everything good to go?’ he asked weakly. The band onstage struck up and nausea overwhelmed him as the chirpy music assaulted his ears. Crutchie was saying something about the video link and the studio in Philly but Davey couldn’t comprehend it. He had done this twice already, had hated it both times - ‘I can’t fucking do this.’

He forced his way out through the crowds, the world spinning around him. As soon as he was out of the square he sank into a crouch, sucking in mouthfuls of air. He needed help.

//

‘Say “aah.”‘

‘Aah.’

The doctor peered down his throat and he stared up at the ceiling, disillusioned. The difference between knowing that _something_ was wrong, and knowing what that something was, was huge. The urge to have it looked at, to be assessed by a professional, had taken him to a doctor’s office, and he didn’t know exactly what he expected them to say, he just needed some kind of insight.

‘Well, your tonsils look fine! No headaches, pains, anything like that?’

‘Nausea. Deja vu. Just... disorientation.’

‘Mmhmm, mmhmm. Had a knock to the head recently?’

‘No. I don’t think so.’

‘Eaten anything bad?’

‘No.’ The doctor stared at him, tapping his pen about the metal desk. ‘Have you recently come off any medication?’

‘I have literally done nothing. This is happening _to me_ and I don’t know why.’

The doctor took a few more seconds to think, then leaned forward, narrowing his eyes and glaring at Davey. He took a deep breath in, paused - and then let out a huge sigh, and shrugged his shoulders.

//

‘So you’re depressed?’

‘No. I’m literally reliving the same day. February 2nd has happened to me... three times now.’

He sat opposite Punx’s premiere psychiatrist, who eyed him anxiously, pen poised over her clipboard, though she hadn’t yet taken any notes.

‘So you’re... delusional?’

‘No - I’m.’ He hadn’t said it out loud before so he could totally understand her response. ‘I’m being very serious.’

‘My initial thought is to prescribe you this very mild anti-depressant. Sometimes days can feel like they’re bleeding into each other and really you just need a little pep!’

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, and stared at her. ‘I don’t know why I thought this would help. Give me the pills.’

//

‘I feel like I’m trapped in a loop - like I’m unstuck in time.’

‘I sense a lot of anger in your aura,’ the guru nodded sagely. ‘And I think that’s why you’ve come apart from reality.’

‘I haven’t come apart from reality? I’m here - reality has... has come apart from me.’

‘I’m just going to see where your moon is, and then I’ll be able to get a better idea, alright? Now, what time were you born?’

//

‘I know exactly what you mean.’ The sexy bartender leaned over the bar and fixed him with a glare. ‘Like every day is exactly the same, right?’

‘Right! Like _literally_ the same. Like I can’t even butterfly-effect it, I’m just floating through like an unwilling witness.’

‘Like nothing you do matters?’

‘Kind of!’

‘Oh yeah, I’ve been there.’ He pushed over a freshly poured pint. Davey traced his fingertips through the condensation on the glass. ‘I’m Spot.’

Davey had given up trying to explain his predicament to medical or spiritual professionals and had opted instead to indulge in the fact that in a metaphorical sense the entire town probably felt like him. He had peeped through the door of the bar to check that Jack and Crutchie weren’t there, because he didn’t at all feel like explaining himself to them, before taking a seat at the bar and treating the bartender like a therapist.

‘I’m used to it,’ he’d said, when Davey had apologised, sheepish at having rambled about his problems. But Spot had kind eyes (when he wasn’t glaring at rowdy customers) and a warm smile (when it eventually surfaced), and it made him feel like he could share without being judged. ‘In fact, what you’re saying sounds a whole lot like my day-to-day.’ And he had told Davey in turn, how tending bar in a place like Punx, was a steady paycheck thanks to the town’s band of alcoholics (”drunxsutawney”) but it wasn’t the most fulfilling, or exciting, or the best way to meet people. This was why, he explained, he couldn’t _not_ introduce himself when a news crew of three cute guys passed through. Davey raised his eyebrows and accepted the drink.

‘David.’

‘David.’ The repetition with a smile sounded like validation. And Davey liked it. ‘How long you in town for?’

‘I’m... not sure. I don’t know.’

‘One night? More?’

‘Hopefully not more.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Me and Punx don’t get on. We’re not friends.’

‘Go on?’

‘I miss Philly. I miss my apartment on top of a 7-11, and I miss the constant buzz of noise and activity. When a town is too quiet, it’s... unnerving. I don’t like it.’ This was a new realisation. But there it was. Punx was so quiet that it forced all his problems to the forefront of his mind - how lonely nights in his one-bed got, or how stilted his career already felt despite being solidly okay for his age. How he had all these ideas exploding around in his head but what felt like no power to make them heard. ‘How about you? What makes you say that you’re stuck? Apart from, I guess, Punx just making everyone feel like that?’

‘I just - this is my pop’s bar, right? He passed eight years ago, just in time for me to graduate high school and take over - like he timed it. But the thing about my pop is, he saw beauty in the small things. Glass coke bottles, beer mats, musty pool tables. He loved this place. But I just - can’t. Can’t romanticise it like he could. But I love him, so. It’s what he would have wanted.’

‘You to be bound here? Sorry - I know it’s really none of my business.’

‘No, no. I don’t know. What if I get rid of this place and don’t find something better? He set me up here, y’know. Can’t sniff at it. But will anyway, right?’

‘Right.’ At the same time that Davey wanted to shake Spot and tell him to chase his dreams or whatever, he knew where he was coming from, and saw a good deal of his own issues in him.

‘I mean. One day something else will appear. Something so good that it’ll propel me away from here and I won’t feel bad. Just... not tonight.’

‘Something like what?’

‘I’ll know when I see it.’ He smirked, holding Davey’s gaze for a few seconds before stepping back and nodding towards the rest of the bar. ‘You’re the last man standing. Mind if I join you for one before last call?’

‘Be my guest. Or your own guest. Or whatever.’ Davey watched him pour a beer before venturing round to the other side of the bar. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that the place had emptied around them. Spot sat on the bar stool next to him, swivelling to face him, their knees just touching.

‘And what about you, huh? What do you want?’

//

The apartment was dimly lit in orange by a solitary lamp on an end table. Lived in but not messy. Clearly one person’s abode.

Davey followed Spot in, and paused in the living room as his host wandered into the kitchen. As Davey replied to the drink offer thrown to him he took a second to centre himself. He touched the doorknob first, as he closed the door, a knuckle on the polished brass, and then the back of the couch, memorising the rough texture of the cotton or wool or whichever material it was. He ran a fingertip through a fine layer of dust that had collected on an old War and Peace on the arm of the couch, and then finally encountered a little cat who breezed over from its bed in the corner. He picked it up, holding it to his chest, scratching behind its ears. It purred, nuzzling into his hand.

He was definitely here. He was definitely in this apartment.

//

When he woke up the next morning under that stifling duvet full of stale laundry fragrance, with the hotel radio singing about groundhogs _plus_ the brand new memory of Spot’s hands and mouth and skin - that was his first realisation that nothing he did now had any consequences.


	5. Morning Four

Cautious optimism characterised Davey’s fourth February 2nd. It was a damn shame that he had woken up in the suffocating perfumed hotel room, drowning in an overstuffed floral duvet, to the sounds of an aggressively beeping alarm clock, considering how the night before he had fallen asleep in Spot’s arms, face nuzzled into neck, spaced out and high - but it signalled something. It meant that he was right, and that everything else was wrong.

He stared at the ceiling and tried to debate his next steps. He had to think of this logically, particularly if he was going to try and make real sense of this... situation. 

First things first. Test the waters. Get some coffee.

He sat up and pushed the duvet aside, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His room, chilly during the day thanks to the antiquated windows allowing breeze to sliver in, somehow turned into a microwave in the mornings, radiators blasting through and cranking his body heat up to eleven. He had kicked off his lounge pants in the night and they sat in a sad pile at the foot of the bed. He sat in a t-shirt and briefs, staring down at the carpet. 

Heads turned in the dining room when Davey entered wearing just that.  
They turned, however, in that very understated and totally silent way that meant that while nothing would be said when he was in the room, as soon as he left the conversation would explode in a muted murmur over why on earth that producer fellow thought it was appropriate to show up without getting dressed. Nerves twisted tight in Davey’s stomach as he walked in, nodded good morning at Mrs. Bloom, and headed over to the coffee station. It was painfully awkward, almost crippling, and he fought hard against the impulse to a) run away and b) apologise, instead standing tall, pouring himself a big cup of filter coffee and picking up two croissants. He held one between his teeth and carried the other with the cup of coffee, back up to his room. Mrs. Bloom, eyes trained on the pale expanse of thigh suddenly presented to her, cleared her throat and started to speak.

‘Mr. Jacobs, I don’t know how you do it in the city -’

He breezed past her, wincing to himself at the rudeness. That didn’t feel good, he noted to himself. Whatever he did today, he couldn’t be an asshole for no reason. 

Back in his room he sat at the diminutive desk and pulled out his laptop. One five minute dither over how to title the document (”Plans For Weird Repetitive Day” “Day of No Consequences Plans” “What the Fuck is Fucking Happening”) later and he started to consider what he could do now he was faced with that lack of consequences. 

Smoke freely. It was a stupid thing he had picked up in college - when term papers and reading had stacked up alongside his shift work and grad job applications, he had found that the only respite was those snatches of five or so minutes where he was forced outside. You could eat, drink, socialise, whatever, while studying in the library, but you couldn’t smoke, and he’d found that doing it was the one way he got real breaks. It was a shocking habit, he knew, and dumb as hell, which was why he had tried his best to stop since graduation, but if he ever found himself stressed, or scared, or sad (or frustrated, or drunk, or around other smokers) then it was one he dipped back into, often with a low surge of worry in his stomach that he ignored. Now, however? His reliable lack of hangover suggested that he could put whatever he wanted into his body and the next day it would be gone.

On to the next thing. Eat whatever I want. Again, his life as a producer in Philly wasn’t exactly conducive to a healthy lifestyle, but he tried. Tried to grab vegetables with his bags of pasta and pizza rolls, and tried to drink water instead of just coffee. But now he didn’t have to worry. If this was going how he thought it was he wouldn’t get fat, or diabetes, or have all his teeth fall out.

Treat yo self. A tight budget meant that he had to know where every last penny in his bank went or was going, but surely if he spent it it would come back, would reset in a way? It was the beginning of the month, that sweet spot between pay day and rent day, when he could pretend the money in his account was all for him - he could blow it all. And yeah, the day would start again and anything he bought would be gone, but maybe even the sensation of buying stuff, being so recklessly generous with himself, would be enough.

He stared at the word doc, quizzical. His list so far was just stuff he did anyway, but stuff he wanted to be able to do without the guilt. He needed to step it up. What was he actually afraid to do?

Flirt with people. He felt dumb even typing that, god, it looked adolescent and reductive blinking in front of him, but it needed to be stated. Twenty-six, moderately successful (if that wasn’t too generous a term), lonely as hell. He should be flirting with everyone he met. But putting himself out there was scary. Was scary. 

Tell people the truth. Each word appeared on his monitor painstakingly. He didn’t need to be an asshole, but what if he didn’t hide how he felt? Like if something seriously made him unhappy or uncomfortable - instead of just taking it, say. Or even in a positive light - usually he wouldn’t like to give someone like Jack the satisfaction of a compliment, but, hell. Honesty for everyone. Even if it did get erased overnight, at least it would show him the short term consequences of speaking up.

Ask people for the truth. Oh boy. Being real with people had to be a two way street, right? Sure, it wasn’t socially acceptable to assume that people were always telling white lies, and thus ask for the real truth, and most people probably wouldn’t want to be asked or answer - but he could press for answers if he knew that the day was going to disappear. Then he would know what people thought of him, he would have a kind of power, and he could start to do the day better. He could hack his life!

He tipped the last gulp of coffee down his throat and stood up. There was a glimmer of temptation to head down to the square as he was, underwear and t-shirt, but he wasn’t quite prepared to risk hypothermia, even if he would probably wake up fine the next day.

There was a tiny shred of doubt that he ignored as he stood in line at the diner on his way to the broadcast. He knew that the day had repeated over and over and over, but who was to say that it was going to happen again? What if today was today? And tomorrow came, and he had blown his pay check, said awkward stuff to people, smoked like a chimney and died of a sugar overdose? 

He tried to analyse his resistance to this doubt... Maybe he could (should?) do fun stuff despite the risk. Because the doubt made him want to do the day as he had the first time, moody, mellow, waiting for it to be over - but was that then just his life? How tragic was it, if that was his normal? Maybe he could do this stuff even knowing it might go wrong. Maybe that was why this was happening.

‘Morning... sunshine?’ Jack’s eyes widened as Davey appeared bearing a tray of takeout coffee and breakfast (three dollars each for coffee and five each for food, by no means an extortionate amount but still an expense he couldn’t ordinarily justify.)

‘Morning guys!’ He offered them the tray. ‘There’s donuts too, Crutchie, in the - there.’ He smiled back at Crutchie who nodded gratefully if slightly confusedly, and leaned forward to grasp the paper bag tucked under Davey’s arm.

‘Thanks Davey, what’s the occasion?’ Jack popped the top off his cup and inhaled the warm scent. 

‘You have to ask?’

‘Don’t tell me you’re celebrating Groundhog Day,’ He eyed Davey with a suspicion that was part light-hearted and part, well, earnest.

‘Why not?’ 

‘I just... Hey, I’m not complaining, of course, specially not if there’s food involved! But you seemed so... blech about it before, right?’

‘I’ve been infected with the spirit of the season!’ Still an expression of confusion stared back. Davey took a deep breath in. Tell people the truth. ‘Look. I know I was an asshole yesterday. I could have just sucked it up and had a positive attitude about this but I sulked like a little kid. So this is me saying, y’know... Well done for coming to Buttfuck PA, now let’s do a killer broadcast, alright?’ 

Jack stared at him for a few seconds, a look of reticent fondness appearing on his face, and Davey looked back, tense, nervous that Jack was going to shoot him down, or see through him. Eventually Jack’s expression broke into a grin and he lifted his cup in a mock toast. ‘Alright!’ 

It felt kind of good to be in as high spirits as Jack and Crutchie were, even if he was buoyed by a completely alien reason. The bandstand music was only slightly torturous, the ceremony only vaguely unbearable. Jack and Crutchie didn’t need to know that Davey was only happy because of the prospect of a day crammed with unapologetic hedonism - as far as they were concerned he was actually fine with being here. 

And maybe he was, just for this day. 

He’d smoked a couple of cigarettes on his way to the square from the diner and so had lingered outside before heading in (again, he wasn’t interested in being an asshole for no reason, and smoking in the middle of a crowd was a clear asshole move.) He had peered into the square, noting that through the masses of people, if he concentrated, he could pick out Jack and Crutchie waiting for him, chatting away, cheeks red, demeanours chirpy. Jack would say something, gesture in some way, and Crutchie would fall about laughing, under his spell, something Jack would watch and then join in with, eyes crinkling, teeth bared in a frankly dazzling smile. 

Who was this guy?

They had of course had those two nights at the bar, drinking and talking the way semi-new colleagues do, but he still didn’t really know Jack Kelly any deeper than the surface. They had only really talked about work, their degrees, and Philly, still too much strangers to each other to get into the good stuff. 

Ask people for the truth. 

Crutchie obviously adored him, along with everyone at the station (and apparently a handful of people in the square who Davey saw approach Jack to engage in what looked like flirting but of course could have just been innocent, flirtation apparently being Jack’s standard setting.) And Davey was resistant to his charms, but then, on a day with no consequences, he could actually let himself be taken in by Jack, knowing that if the weatherman did turn out to be vapid or shallow, he could revert to the previous day’s reserved disdain.

He was going to figure out Jack Kelly.


	6. Afternoon Four

_9th January._

He couldn’t keep his eyes open. Like gravity was acting on them, forcing his eyelids down, yet when he indulged in a long blink, they burned. He made himself focus, squinting into his laptop screen and trying to figure out if the mysterious characters that he himself had written the night before were actually words.

_Oh yeah I’ll wake up early and finish it in the morning, Jesus, when the fuck has that ever worked for anyone, God Davey._

He really wanted a cigarette. It was Friday morning, and he’d overslept. Kind of. If you could call making it to work at 7:15 oversleeping. 

It was a budget proposal for a new feature he’d managed to dream up midway through a weekend. A dry, boring piece of documentation he had to present to his superiors before being able to paint the air with his gorgeous ideas and assurances of how the feature would better the show (make them more money.) But his boss, who he’d emailed with the idea that Sunday morning, had given him a deadline of first thing Monday, giving him less than a day to get it together.

Why couldn’t they just trust him and give him a blank cheque?

Like an idiot he had let himself sleep, as soon as the words on the page started to become meaningless literally as he wrote them, and woke in a panic after five hours, pulled his clothes on and ran to the station, where he slammed his laptop down on his desk and hurriedly tried to finish the damn thing.

So maybe when Sheila from casting had brought the new weatherman over, he hadn’t exactly… noticed. Not straight away, anyway. He was busy.

‘And Jack, this is David, he’s one of our roving producers! You’ll be with him on the Groundhog… David?’ 

‘Huh?’ He looked up and blinked.

‘This is Jack, the new weatherman. First day!’

He tried to think. Man standing in front of him. Sheila from casting. Report. Deadline. Fuck. Fucking work. 

‘What?’

‘I’m Jack.’ Jack held out his hand. Davey glanced at it. He reached out and shook it, as he did so letting his eyes drift back to his laptop screen. Was that number right? That date?

‘Hey…’ He didn’t mean to be rude. But how could he meet someone new when he was clearly tied up in this? He had already forgotten this guy’s name. ‘It’s nice to…’ That figure was definitely wrong. Shit. ‘Sorry. This is.’ He meant to say a whole sentence but the rest fell away as he tried to locate his other spreadsheet, that little attention he’d spared utterly swept away. He didn’t see Jack bite his lip, raise his eyebrows and nod, and he didn’t see Sheila purse her lips and turn back to Jack.

‘Let’s get you introduced to make-up.’

Some time later, when the report was fired off, and he had the brain capacity to think about anything else, this encounter would dawn on him as a slightly embarrassing asshole move, but not one that he really had the time or inclination to fix. He couldn’t be too unhappy if he wasn’t best friends with everyone at the station, right? That wasn’t why he was there. 

//

_February 2nd. Time four. Continued._

On his way into the square he saw Spot and a brief flame of self-consciousness flared up. Spot had no idea that they had - because they technically hadn’t… But then Davey had definitely - Christ. It felt icky. Like he had no right to know what Spot looked like in the throes of passion, and yet, as he stared at him, that was all he could think of (obviously, and it got more difficult to push away the more he tried.) Spot glanced at him as he attempted to force his mind away, and they locked eyes. He was wearing his signature glare, so Davey looked away immediately. But then. He knew, or could infer, from the other night that Spot… liked him. In some conceivable way. So he looked back up. And it felt dumb, but he let a lazy smile cross his face, and nodded his head just barely. Spot’s glare softened. Flirting - check. Ish.

He crossed to the far corner of the square, and to Jack and Crutchie. 

He felt like he could recite the ceremony word for word by now and resisted the urge to prove it, watching with a distant enthusiasm that was alien but not unwelcome. Right on cue after the broadcast snow started to fall.

‘It’s snowing!’ And he let himself be taken in just a little by Jack’s dazzling, childlike grin.

‘We weren’t expecting any snow, huh?’

‘Not ‘til tonight. Thought we’d be back before it started!’

‘You think we should get a move on, Dave?’ Crutchie eyed Davey as he crammed his camera back in its case. 

‘I feel like by the time we get to the highway we’ll be stuck here, this snow feels serious. You know how long it’s meant to last, Jack?’

‘It’s hard to say. Could be a couple hours. Could be days.’

 _Helpful,_ was what Davey would have replied any other day. ‘I think we should wait it out. I don’t trust myself driving us three and this equipment in heavy snow, anyway. I’ve got the station’s credit card. Let’s get brunch.’

//

Diner. Fogged up windows. Steaming mugs of coffee. And a giant stack of pancakes with extra bacon, syrup, and several scoops of ice cream for Davey. Jack watched him tuck in, eyes wide.

‘Never woulda had you down as the type, Davey. You struck me as a black coffee, brown toast kinda producer.’

‘Treat yo self, right?’ Davey took a gulp of his third cup of coffee (this behaviour was  not Groundhog Day induced, this part was just Davey.) ‘Like, sucks that we’re stranded here, but bright side: amazing pancakes.’ Jack stared, expression a mixture of nervous appraisal and admiration. 

It struck Davey then that despite his feeling somewhat…  _closer_ didn’t feel like exactly the right word, but… closer to Jack after their two nights in the bar, to Jack he was still the same kind of asshole that had been in such a terrible mood the night they had arrived, as far as Jack was concerned, twelve hours previous. He had softened this a little, by admitting his assholeness and apologising, but there was only so much damage control that could be done in a morning.  _Plus_ whatever he did would be swept away by this weird fucking phenomenon. It felt nice to try, though. And if he thought about it long enough and wanted to feel a little humble, he might just say that Punx was the best place to recharge his batteries, get away from some of the pressures of Philly, and as such prove both to himself and others that he wasn’t actually a jerk.

But he wasn’t quite there yet.

‘You’re right.’ Jack sat back in his seat, leaning one arm across the back of the booth and wrapping his other hand round his coffee mug. ‘I’m glad you’re starting to warm to Punx. I gotta say I was a little antsy. The way you’ve been talking about this trip I expected this place to be, like, a big field with no hot water and a population of twelve.’

‘You mean you weren’t looking forward to it? Jack Kelly, eternal optimist?’ The sugar in his breakfast was starting to make him jittery, and that awareness that the day was bound to be erased gave him a little confidence in steering the conversation somewhere new.

‘It’s not that I wasn’t looking forward to it! Well. Okay. I wasn’t… But I’m the face on the screen, right? Had to pretend I was.’

‘So it’s an act?’ Wow, Davey. How to talk to your coworkers 101: resist psychoanalysis. But, he tried to remind himself, this conversation would be erased. It would disappear. Probably.

‘What’s an act?’

‘The whole… Chipper, happy weatherman thing?’

‘I mean - I really am a weatherman. That part’s not an act.’

‘Right.’

‘But - I don’t know! Like, if I’m not looking forward to something, does that give me the right to just walk around with a long face all the time?’

‘Is that what I do, then?’

‘No! Come on.’

Davey sat back in his chair. This was starting to feel like a segue into a conversation he had always wanted to have with someone, but had never been able to. A perfectly sensible question, one that everyone wondered but just seemed a little  _much_ to ask. He bit his lip. Go hard or go home. ‘What do you… think of me?’

Jack raised his eyebrows at the question and a jolt of anxiety burned in Davey’s stomach.  _This is going to get erased. And if not… you can always move._

‘What do I think of you?’

‘First impression. Most recent impression. Whatever. Be brutally honest.’

‘Brutally? Davey, I don’t know you. Not really.’

‘You must have some… thoughts.’ This was terrifying. Eschewing social norms was exhilarating in a way but mostly just fucking terrifying. 

‘Can I ask why?’

‘No. Maybe later.’

‘Alright. Can I have amnesty for this? You won’t get offended?’

‘If I do, I’ll pretend I’m not.’

‘Right. So - alright.’ Jack leaned forward on the table and studied Davey. ‘You are very good at your job. I can tell. And I’ve seen pictures of you at the Christmas party, so I know that the person who it sometimes seems like you are isn’t necessarily… Okay. I get the…  _impression…_ that you think you’re too good for the role that you’re in.’ Davey started to regret asking but couldn’t push away his desperation for the answer. Jack continued. ‘And maybe you are too good! You probably are - but what have you done to show people that you can be a kick ass producer, other than complaining about it and expecting people to agree with you?’ He paused and sat back, picking at the label on his water bottle. ‘Not that that’s - this is only stuff I’ve thought about the past day or so. Like I say. I don’t really know you.’

The whole thing felt like a sucker punch - one he knew in the back of his mind he would be happy to have heard, but - god. 

‘Oh boy.’

‘I’m sorry, Davey. You did ask…’

‘I know. Haha.’ He let out a long, shaky breath. ‘So how do-’ This would disappear. He could get away with baring his soul to Jack a little, putting his pride aside. ‘How do you do it? What makes Jack Kelly… Jack Kelly?’

‘Never really thought about it.’

‘I just - like. I get anxious.’ He sighed. ‘I’m anxious now. There’s a little stopper in my head keeping me from saying everything I want because I’m that nervous about the outcome.’

‘Then don’t be!’

‘Ah, right. Problem solved.’

‘Okay, that was dumb. But what are you actually afraid of?’

‘I guess… Getting laughed at. Or fired. Or just going off the other way, like, what if I let myself relax and do something really dumb and don’t realise, and everyone is laughing at me and I’m just that dense that I think everything’s fine?’

‘You have to not care what everyone thinks! You have to, like, reconfigure your head so you can devalue other peoples’ opinions - not to nothing, obviously, but to less. Right? Like, I’m on TV. I’m not famous but I’m there, any every morning after my forecast I get a dozen tweets from - yeah, ok, some old ladies who like seeing me, but there’s always a few people trying to be assholes.’

‘But those people don’t have power over your career. Why shouldn’t I care what the people at the network think when they’re the ones who could make or break me?’

‘You should care what they think, granted, but don’t be scared of them. And listen - those people do have power over my career. No one’s trying to put a weatherman the people don’t respond to on TV. So that means that everything I do is kind of a means to try and get people to like me. That’s… how I’ve formed my personality. I mean, I’ve never really looked at it that way, but I guess it’s true.’

There was a long moment of silence as they both processed what had been said. As awkward and convoluted this conversation had felt for Davey, it kind of felt like invaluable knowledge. He was glad to have it.

‘So, fair’s fair.’ 

‘Huh?’ He blinked and stared at Jack.

‘My turn. What do you think of me? Since we’re playing this game.’

‘Oh.’ Another struggle against his internal resistance to being anything but placid. He could see why Jack didn’t like answering the question. It was hard. But Davey had appreciated the honesty, so maybe… ‘It took me a while to warm to you.’ 

‘How come?’

‘I started to think that maybe we weren’t compatible, like, in a professional sense.’

‘No?’

‘Because you’re so good at people, and I’m not.’

‘You’re fine at people.’

‘I know I’m being weird right now and I’m nervous that you’re judging me, but at the same time…’

‘Doesn’t mean we aren’t professionally compatible thought, right? The media needs introverts and extroverts - introverts to think and extroverts to talk.;

‘You’re right. You are right.’

‘Back to me. Didn’t like me at first?’

‘I thought you were cocky and -  _fake_ sounds harsh, but… Affected, maybe. A performance. The smiles, the happiness.’

‘To be fair, Davey, you only really see me on the news.’

‘Yes! So then Punx, which I was dreading, but you - I think I’ve started to realise that it  _is_ your personality. It’s not fake. It’s nice to, you know, bring the sunshine, as it were.’

‘Someone has to.’ Jack glanced down at the table then back up at Davey. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Sure.’

‘Do you think everyone at the station thinks I’m fake?’

‘What?’

‘If you thought that…’

‘No! Jack, I’m sorry - I didn’t mean… I don’t know why I said it.’

‘Cuz I asked.’

Davey’s stomach twisted and he felt like a dick for instigating this. It had been interesting to know what Jack thought but did that mean he had to air his own prejudices about the poor guy? He almost looked a little cut up.

‘Jack - everyone at the station genuinely adores you. You have to know that.’

‘Yeah, but if I’m fake, maybe everyone else is fake, right?’ He stood up, pushing his plate away. ‘Excuse me, Davey. I need to go take a walk.’

Ah. 

He watched Jack leave, a contemplative look of disappointment on his face Davey had never  seen before. What the hell had driven him to that kind of unwelcome honesty? He’d never expected Jack to actually take it to heart. 

It was fine. It was okay. The day was going to repeat. It had to. He could try again. 

He left too, heading back to the hotel despite it being barely eleven. If he could just sleep, work, watch Netflix, anything until the next day, it would be fine. He didn’t want to risk fucking anything else up.

The walk back was only a couple of minutes, but a little eventful by Punx standards. As he stepped out the diner a tiny dachshund sprinted comically down the street, and a little ways away about a minute later a delivery man stumbled down the steps of his truck, spilling the stack of boxes he was holding and sending the contents, dozens of cupcakes, flying down the road. Davey felt the tiniest jolt of guilt as he walked past but figured the damage had been done, and the bakery employees the cakes were destined for could probably help. 

And of course, if he helped, it would probably only happen again tomorrow.

Just outside the hotel he had to duck round a woman standing at the gate talking to Mrs. Bloom - or weeping, it turned out, clutching an A4 printout that declared “MISSING PUPPY.” He recognised it as the pup that had just flown past him and forced himself to stop and mention this to the woman. 

A ladder leaned precariously against the hotel, where a cleaner finished up one of the first floor windows, stretching out to get the last corner. Just as Davey got inside the door, the ladder slipped into the soft soil under the man’s weight and toppled, sending him flying hard onto the lawn. Mrs. Bloom rushed over to attend, and Davey, at seeing the man sit up and proclaim ‘I’m okay, I’m okay!’ decided it was fine to not intervene. 

This stuff had probably happened the previous versions of this day and would only happen again tomorrow’s version of the day - and Davey had his own shit to figure out. 


	7. Day Five

Relief. Unadulterated and alien it washed over him when he woke up on February 2nd. Shame from upsetting Jack remained annoyingly in the pit of his stomach - he had still done the thing, after all - but Jack did not know. He wouldn’t say the wrong thing, now. He’d do better.

Because the day had still been useful. He was glad he’d dared to rely on the fact that it would disappear - he’d learned more about Jack, for example, namely that he was sensitive about how he came across despite appearing not to be (and having no reason to be) and that he was genuinely... a good guy. Dammit.

He now knew truths about himself, too. It made him cringe to think back over his four years at the station, apparently swanning around lofty and presumptuous, acting like he was too good for it all - humiliating, but fixable, surely.

There was still a jarring streak of gratitude through this embarrassment. Like someone pointing out you had spinach in your teeth - vexing, but you ended up glad that they pointed it out. Where “spinach” here equalled asshole behaviour.

Was that why this was happening? He had struggled, of course, with trying to identify the source of this thing, phenomenon, event - science? God? A powerful hallucination? If this were a movie it would clearly be a way to bring Davey’s attention to what needed changing in his day to day - and sure this was  _not_ a movie, but if he leaned into that point of view a little bit, what was the worst that could happen?

So he had already made a couple of changes. Taking the guys breakfast in the morning felt nice, and it showed that he appreciated their effort. Going with the flow where the weather was concerned, instead of getting mad that they couldn’t force the van through the storm? Way easier.

Shit, maybe Jack did have a point.

So he did this day almost -  _almost_ \- the same as the one before. Not the underwear thing, though that had been novel and fun (also cold). He stopped for coffees, greeted the storm with a grin, told the guys that he was sorry for being an asshole on the way, then headed to the diner for just pancakes. Yesterday was a fun indulgence. Today might be the time to see what he  _should_ do.

They sat in the diner. Davey didn’t need to ask what he had desperately wanted to before, which felt good, and he let himself be a little glad that he had asked after all. Instead he could focus on figuring out how to built a rapport with Jack. He was clearly onto something - his advice about devaluing other peoples’ opinions was something Davey could remember and use, and it made him frustrated with himself that he had never thought to give Jack the time of day before.

‘So, you’re from New York?’ Not really a question. He remembered this from their first night out.

‘Yup. Born and raised.’

‘Why Philly?’

‘It’s where the job was, right? And like, why not. Something different.’

‘Wanted a change?’

‘Kinda. Like, feel like a change is normally a good thing. Shake it up.’

‘Do you go back much?’

‘What, am I being interviewed?’ Jack laughed quietly, tearing his slice of toast into halves and then quarters. 

‘Sorry, I just. Feel like I don’t know anything about you, which is terrible. We’re colleagues, y’know?’

‘Alright. Sure. I haven’t been back that much. I really like Philly, and like, once you meet a few new people in a new place it gets easier to stay. Aren’t you from New York too?’

‘Yeah. I moved for the job as well.’

‘Think you’ll go back?’

‘One day. Probably. It’s where my family are, you know. Old friends. Childhood memories, kind of thing.’ Davey watched as Jack stiffened, averting his gaze. ‘Not the same with you?’

‘I don’t really, ah, have a “family” in the sense of - in any sense.’ He emphasised the word  _family_ with air quotes, a move that tugged on Davey’s heartstrings. ‘But it’s fine - good, even. Maybe. Nothing tying me down!’ Davey hadn’t heard this in any of their conversations. He wondered if Jack was opening up because Davey had first, and marvelled at how quickly he had surrendered this obviously crucial bit of information once Davey had expressed an earnest intention to get to know him. Like it informed more of Jack’s life than he realised, maybe.

‘That’s a great way of looking at it. And awesome that you’ve been able to build bridges in Philly so fast?’

‘Yeah, I was a keen bean in my first week or so. Like, sending everyone facebook requests my first day. Went on like sixteen dates.’

‘Dates?’ Interesting. ‘Anyone I know?’

‘One or two from the station. Lisa. Amber. Albert. Not like  _date_ dates, just kinda. Drinks. Movies.’

A blip of white noise exploded in Davey’s ears for a second. Did he know that Jack liked guys? He would have remembered if it had come up in their previous talks. 

‘I - I remember that feeling. When you first get here - so many people, right?’

‘Exactly! All trying to impress each other and be heard. It’s wild, but I love it.’

‘I know what you mean. Sort of. Actually, not really.’

‘How about you, is there a Mrs. Creative Producer back in Philly?’

‘No. Um, it would be a Mr. Creative Producer. But there’s not one of those, either.’

‘You must meet so many people though?’

‘Yeah. I do.’

They slipped into a silent lull. Davey couldn’t tell what Jack was thinking but he was now casting his mind back over the sparse handful of dates he’d enjoyed in his four years of working (and of course those he hadn’t enjoyed.) He’d been out with Albert too, plus one guy from the research team, Specs. Then Skittery, the runner, and Darcy, the old weatherman. One a year, interspersed with the odd (very odd) match from Tinder or friend of a friend, and not that he was  _desperate_ or anything, but - that lack of direction, the frustration of feeling stuck, it was only amplified when he came home to his empty apartment or woke up to zero texts. Not desperate, but ready. So ready.

‘C’mon.’ Jack broke the silence. ‘Why don’t we go see what else Punx has to offer?’

It was still snowing. Jack was great company. Davey nodded and stood up.

As they stepped out the door Davey caught a look at the clock tower overlooking the main road. It was 10:30. Their conversation had lasted exactly as long as yesterday’s had, the one where he’d upset Jack (that, phew, again he thanked his lucky stars had disappeared.) He felt good, this felt like maybe how the day should be going - like he had started to realise what he needed to retain and amend from different versions of Groundhog Day, and the more right he got it, the more he felt like this ordeal might be winding down. 

Otherwise what hope did he have?

But. If he was leaving the diner the same time they had the morning before...

He paused outside the door, holding out his hand to stop Jack walking away.

‘What?’

‘Hang on. One second.’ He adopted a power stance, feet planted on the sidewalk, crouched down, ready. 

Jack shifted on his feet, glancing around awkwardly, pulling his coat round himself to shield against the snow. ‘You alright there, Davey?’

The puppy barrelled down the street, but Davey was there. He had to dive to the side just a little to grab it, but he managed to scoop the wriggling animal up into his arms, hugging it close to his chest as it squirmed and panicked.

‘What the heck - how did you see this little guy?’ Jack’s eyes widened as he watched Davey try to calm the dog.

‘I just - did. Here, can you?’ Davey passed the puppy over to Jack, elated that this bullshit day had given him an opportunity to do something moderately impressive in front of him. Jack held it tight, whispering soothing shushes into its ear, and Davey took a second to watch before nodding towards the direction of the motel. ‘I, uh, I know the owner. I think she’ll be this way.’

They continued down the street, and because Davey knew he could rely on the relentless repetitiveness of the day’s events, he was ready when the delivery man fell out of his truck and sent the boxes of cupcakes flying - haphazard and clumsy he managed to grab them in his arms: one large and flat, then four slightly smaller on top, they still landed with a crash but none of them hit the floor. The truck driver stumbled out and grabbed Davey’s shoulders to steady himself, gushing out an apology. 

‘Shouldn’t make me do these fuckin’ deliveries in the snow, listen, you saved my ass, you really - look, take one, they won’t notice if one’s gone,’ he took the boxes from Davey and flipped open the top one, taking a red velvet cupcake out and pressing it into Davey’s hand. 

As he hurried into the bakery Davey turned to look at Jack, keen to see his reaction and vaguely concerned that this might appear almost choreographed. Jack stared at him with raised eyebrows. The puppy strained up to lick Jack’s face.

‘This much adventure always follow you around?’

‘I think everyone’s just going a little crazy cuz of Phil.’

‘Is that right?’ Jack directed this question down at the puppy, and a weird, warm feeling started to stir in Davey’s stomach. Uh-oh.

He took a bite out of the cupcake as they kept walking back towards the motel and offered the other half to Jack. Jack struggled for a sec, trying to shift the weight of the dog into one arm so he could grab the cake, but the thing was wriggly and scared so he settled for saying ‘Can you just -’ and opening his mouth after a quick nod towards the cupcake. With the faintest blush Davey took the hint and fed Jack the remaining half, trying to mirror how casually Jack seemed to incite this physical contact but struggling just a little, and at the same time marvelling at how far their dynamic had transformed since the night before (well, you know, however many nights before.)

At the gate to the motel, sure enough, was the puppy’s owner, weeping into Mrs. Bloom’s shoulder, and Davey let Jack take the lead in reuniting them. He watched Jack grin from ear to ear as the pup slathered it’s mom’s face in kisses, before movement stirred from across the lawn and caught his eye.

Oh Jesus. He’d almost forgotten there was one more thing to prevent.

He crossed over to where he knew the man was about to fall off the ladder, intending to steady it so it didn’t slip into the soil, but he seemed to get there a second too late. The man fell, toppling backwards, landing directly on Davey.

//

He sat sullen in the emergency room, broken arm cradled in his lap. The day had been going so well. Too well. Almost perfect. But of course, it couldn’t be perfect, because this was Davey. He’d briefly fallen in love with the idea that being nice to Jack, and saving the puppy, the cakes, and the window washer, things he wouldn’t have done before this whole sorry experience, were the key to being liberated from this horrific cycle, but apparently they were just a ticket to actual bodily harm. Sure, when he’d ignored them the other day, it didn’t feel  _good_ but it felt better than a literal snapped bone.

He remembered with a jolt the day before, when he’d seen the man fall, that he had sat up right away proclaiming how fine he was. So he probably didn’t even need to try and save him? Talk about biting off more than you could chew. If he was bored with this fucking existence before, now he was actively pissed off by it.

Jack sat next to him, trying in sparing attempts to cheer him up but somewhat aware that the moody producer he’d known before was probably back for the time being. 

‘This has gotta be a good few days off, though, right?’ He nudged into Davey’s side, trying to draw his eye away from where he was staring at the grubby waiting room wall.

‘I want to be at work.’ He replied curtly. ‘I wanted to be there this morning, too.’

‘God, you don’t switch off, do you?’

‘I’m annoyed that I didn’t want to be here today and now I’m in the E.R., alright?’

‘You might have broken your arm in Philly? This might have always been written in the stars. 

_You have no fucking idea._

He resisted the urge to snap at Jack, instead tipping his head back and letting out a long sigh. ‘You don’t have to stay,’ he said, staring up at the ceiling. ‘I’ll understand if you don’t want to spend your day here listening to me complain.’ God, just half an hour before he had literally been  _feeding Jack a cupcake._ He couldn’t have asked for a better morning. How could he have been so misguided?

‘C’mon, I’m not leaving you on your own. They might put you on really strong pain meds, and that’s something I wanna see.’

Davey smiled. In the heavy silence of the emergency room he let himself dwell on two things. One: How much his fucking arm fucking hurt. Two: How in theory he had now spent five days with Jack, thinking about Jack, getting to know him and starting to open up to him, and how if this was normal life then he’d be totally justified in starting to feel  _something_ for him. He couldn’t have predicted any of this, not the cycle of the same day, nor the fixation on Jack that it would lead him to, and especially not the ability it somehow gave him to plan days with Jack that led to this weird almost-tension. Even now, sitting here, it felt almost natural and completely tempting to just lean into Jack’s side, thanks to that now kind of pathetic, sick-kid feeling that had settled over him. He felt completely entitled to some physical comfort, but resisted. 

The problem, though, was that was much as through this day he had fostered something new with Jack, if the morning came and it was February 2nd again, it would all be gone, and yet this tiny little inkling of a crush would still be there. And it would keep growing, because Jack would still be Jack. Davey would have the bad luck of having developed a crush seemingly overnight, in reality that had come from days of contemplation. How the hell was that fair?

‘Dave? Can I ask you something?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but... Did you ever  _ask_ not to be sent here?’

‘Did I...’

‘Like. You seemed really annoyed about it. But you never said whether or not you had a choice.’

‘I didn’t have a choice. I mean. I don’t think I did?’

‘Could you have found out? I know it’s too late now. But.’

‘I’m still a tiny cog in the machine, Jack, I don’t think any of them care what I want.’

‘But you don’t  _know,_ do you? Listen, I’m only saying because now I’ve started to get to know you, I can see that you’re not the dead-eyed producer-bot I thought you were. I feel like I know that you can do better.’

Davey opened his mouth then closed it. He sighed. ‘I’ve never tried. You’re right. I’ve never -’

‘David Jacobs?’ A nurse finally, finally appeared in the doorway. ‘You can come through now.’

//

‘You didn’t have to wait for me.’ He said this through a smile as he walked back into the waiting room and saw Jack engrossed in an old copy of Good Housekeeping.

‘Shut up, yeah I did.’ Jack stood up, holding out Davey’s jacket then reconsidering. Davey’s arm was now in plaster and tucked against his arm in a sling, so Jack draped the jacket round Davey’s shoulders, gently tugging it together at the front. ‘You all fixed up?’

‘Ish. Six weeks in this, which is hilarious. You’re going to have to drive us back if we ever get to leave this place.’ He walked through the front door which Jack was holding open for him.

‘I wanted to say, Dave - I’m sorry if I overstepped, what I said before. It’s none of my business what you do or don’t ask the executives. I just, I’d hate to think of you languishing in Punx for no reason.’

Davey laughed quietly. ‘Languishing is definitely right. No, I really hate to admit it but you have a point.’ It was around 3pm. The sun was blinding. The wind, cold. ‘I’m heading back to the motel. I think I’m done for the day.’

‘I’m sure you are. Can I walk you back?’

‘Yeah.’ Punx was small enough that it was barely a ten minute walk. ‘It made me think, what you said. I think that this... Me getting fucking  _maimed_ on the job - it might have given me enough fuel to. Y’know. Do something.’

‘Alright, I like it. Do what?’

‘Call them. Talk to the execs. Be heard.’ It had felt like an epiphany. It had happened as he sat in the X-Ray room, waiting for them to ascertain that the arm was broken (something he felt fairly confident he could tell them for free) - the realisation that everything he had been sad and annoyed and disillusioned by, in this version of this day, might be on the verge of being fixed. He had made a better impression on Jack and Crutchie, there was this new spark that he  _knew_ he wasn’t imagining - the last thing had to be his job. So if he could call up the producers tonight, make his case, tell them with reason and logic why he was better than this - that would leave no reason for him to have to do this day again. He would have learned his lesson.

‘I think you’d be really happy that you did. They really like people who speak up, I mean, you know that.’

‘I do. In theory.’ But then he had come to expect this day to repeat itself. It was one thing to think that he had this right, and quite another to actually be right.

Didn’t that just mean there was literally no harm in trying?

They stood at the bottom of the motel staircase. 

‘Guess I’ll go find Crutchie and fill him in.’

‘Where is he?’

‘He’s friends with basically everyone in this town; he’ll be in some restaurant or living room somewhere.’

‘Thanks for... Thanks. Today’s been bananas. In a... not-terrible way.’

‘You’re telling me. Give me a call if I can pick you up any painkillers or candy or, I don’t know. Grapes. Sick people stuff.’

‘I will. Thanks, Jack. One thing you can do?’

‘Go on?’

‘Will you sign it?’

With his good hand he dug a marker out of his pocket and handed it to Jack, who accepted with a smile. He waited for Davey to gingerly extricate his arm from the sling, and held it gently. He cradled Davey’s hand in his own as he wrote, meaning Davey could barely breathe as he focused on the dizzying scrap of skin-on-skin contact where Jack’s fingertips touched the very top of his palm, and his thumb imperceptibly stroked across his knuckles.

‘Here.’

It was a cartoon of a groundhog with a cast on it’s arm, and the message  _Little shit couldn’t predict this. Take it easy, superstar. Jack._

Davey cradled the arm back against his chest like it was precious. ‘Thanks.’

‘I’ll check in on you later, alright?’

‘Yeah.’ He took a step backwards up the stairs, and with a smile Jack started towards the door. Davey took a deep breath in, and said one more thing. ‘Jack?’

Jack turned.

‘Um. When we’re back in Philly, do you wanna - can I buy you dinner? Say thanks for waiting?’ An agonising pause.  _Jesus. Say something._

Jack nodded, eyes crinkling in a smile. ‘Yeah. Yeah, you can.’

//

‘Andy?’ Even as he spoke on the phone to his boss, even as he had a twinging broken arm laying across his stomach, and even as snow piled up outside and the sky grew darker despite it being not even five, a persistent smile played about Davey’s lips. The day was perfect. But... perfect in an imperfect way. Not a fairytale, but something like it. It was hopeful. ‘Just keeping you posted from the front line.’

‘Sure thing, Dave, shoot.’

‘We’re staying here through the storm. I’ll be working on the ACLU thing from here and I can send you plans and scripts as I have them. I, um, I broke my arm. So there’s that. If we could make sure Jack’s insured to drive the van back, otherwise we have to do something.’

‘Broke your arm? Jesus, Jacobs. Feel free to take tomorrow off.’

‘No, it’s fine. It’s fine - Andy, I need to ask something. I don’t want to wait until I get back.’

‘Go for it, kid, but quick.’

‘I don’t think I should be sent on these things anymore. I think... I think I’ve made my case for being kept on the big stuff at home. And I know I’ve always done it, but I think maybe that’s because I’ve never said I don’t want to. And I don’t. Obviously if you decide to keep me o these, I’ll do a good job, you know I will. But. Just in case you didn’t realise. I’m a good producer and I think I could be utilised better.’

God, another painful pause. People had to stop doing that to Davey.

‘I agree.’

‘What?’

‘You’re good at the Groundhog Day stuff, but I know you’ve got the skills to take on bigger projects. This is what happens when you don’t speak up, kid! We’ll talk Monday.’

‘Oh my god! Thank you, Andy, thank you so much!’

‘Get some rest, kid. Didn’t need to break your arm to get my attention.’

‘No. Right. Thanks.’

He put his phone down on the nightstand and fired up Netflix on his laptop before settling down carefully in bed. He could tell, he was  _sure_ that he had done everything he was meant to, particularly because remembering the night they had arrived in Punx, he never could have predicted any of what had happened this day. Tomorrow would come. February 3rd would come. He was sure. It had to.

Right?


	8. Day Whatever

It was almost like he could feel the dull ache of disappointment before he even opened his eyes. His arm wasn't broken. The radio blared that same inane chatter. The only thing that remained was his sudden surge of almost-longing for Jack and even that was in a kind of flux. He opened his eyes, slammed the snooze button on his radio, turned over in bed and internally combusted.

How could a day like that just go? How could he be that sure that he had done what he was meant to? He'd tried his best, and been so elated when he had floated off to sleep, that this morning seemed to be a stressful, surreal nightmare.

In mourning for the day he stared out the window, limbs suddenly too heavy to move, energy utterly depleted. The sick snap of his arm still echoed - he could almost feel it and yet not. The cast was gone. Jack's drawing gone. His date with Jack, his conversation with Andy, all those nice new memories. Eviscerated. He lay for hours, watching as the snow started to fall, until the whole of outside was a blur of white and it was just him in this hotel room.  

At around eight he heard a loud knocking on his door, and two voices shouting through for him. Jack and Crutchie were obviously concerned that he had missed the broadcast, but he couldn't bring himself to speak to them. Instead he texted Crutchie, a quick excuse about being sick, and listened as the two left him. 

He tried to remember the last half of yesterday, as much as it hurt. After signing his cast, Jack had said he would check in on him. Had he? Davey had fallen asleep early, around seven or eight, and he couldn't remember being stirred at all. He wondered if Jack had maybe sweet-talked his way into being let into Davey's room so he could check on him, adjust the pillows, make sure Davey hadn't fallen asleep on his arm or anything. He could almost see Jack, sitting on the side of the bed, distant worry on his face, keen to make sure Davey was okay, didn't need anything. 

Okay, maybe Davey was filling in the blanks a little too vividly. Jack probably didn't even come. 

He let the day pass, not hungry, not sleepy, just numb, opening up his laptop and letting whatever play, episode after episode. The guys knocked again in the evening, but he stayed silent, hoping they would assume he was asleep, or just didn't care to see them. If he tried hard to make things right and the day still got deleted, then why shouldn't he just not try?

A number of days passed. Davey couldn't tell you how many. He stayed in bed, woken by the alarm clock and the fucking Groundhog Day announcement, knowing that he could stay here and let the day happen around him, again, and again, and again. 

A few times he made it out, incentivised again by the lack of consequence. He’d go through the motions of the broadcast before stalking off, a shadow of the Davey who really thought he was on to something. He went back to Spot again and again, knowing that the only thing between him and a bit of reliable skin on skin contact was a few beers and a deep conversation (one he already knew the answers to.) Distantly he wondered if this was an attempt to try and quell this lust for Jack, as though that had come about strictly due to how long it had been since he'd connected with someone, rather than what he knew was the truth, that Jack was actually... a dream. 

But as he left the hotel, started lazily mixing up his activities, he started to notice more things happening around Punx. The puppy thing happened, the cake thing happened, and the ladder thing - but more. He could set his watch by it, by the old ladies' car breaking down by the graveyard, to the fight kicking off in the bar after one biker knocked over another's beer. Punx was surprisingly rich with moderately catastrophic events, but he had given up caring about whether or not he should fix them, particularly when Jack wasn't there to see.

His mind occasionally wandered to the question of how long he had been in this cycle. His birthday was mid-March, and he knew he had logically been through enough days that he'd now technically be a year older. But he wasn't. It was like his body had been put on pause, or even stopped, rewound at the end of each day, but meanwhile his memories from before the trip floated further and further away behind him. Even memories in Punx, the going downstairs in his underwear, eating all that food, sleeping with Spot for the first time - it was like they'd happened to a different person. Or in a different lifetime.

It became harder and harder, then, to attempt to leave his room, even for Spot, or to see Jack, or for the diner’s bomb pancakes. He started to face up to the idea that this was just his life now, February 2nd, and what that would mean, if it meant anything, and what would happen to him, his sanity, his personality, if he could never break free. At the same time it felt like there was no point in trying to figure out what was happening when the rules of this universe seemed so aggressively undecipherable, especially when he couldn't even ask for help. 

Couldn't even... ask for...

The thought occurred to him in an abstract way as he stared into the space in front of where his computer was playing The Office, or maybe it was Peep Show, or Broad City, they all kind of muddled. He hadn't tried to tell anyone. 

Because it was crazy. Duh. Because no-one would believe him. Because they would think he was weird?

Hadn't he already overcome that hurdle when he decided to walk downstairs in his underwear?

He could just... See. Maybe this kind of thing happened all the time. Maybe it had even happened to Jack before, another thing to bond them. And yeah, sure, maybe Jack would just give him a side-eyed glance and change the subject, but that could just be Davey's cue to hibernate again. 

He did the day afresh, a vibrant energy swelling up in his stomach as he watched the Groundhog Day proceedings and tried his best to remember the odd positive events that he had stumbled upon previously - the apology, the good attitude, the coffee run. Just in case. 

In the diner he could only handle a cup of coffee. He twisted the mug round and round in his hands as he tried to think of the words. They'd just spoken about family, and dates, coming out to each other all over again. He couldn't put it off.

'Jack, can I... share something with you?' 

He had tried to make sure their conversation in the diner went as similarly as possible to their one on that Really Good Day, the one with the broken arm, because he figured that Jack might take such a wild statement slightly more seriously coming from someone he actually knew a little, even if their relationship had only slightly improved from the car ride up. Admittedly this opening question sounded rather ominous, and like Davey was about to say something that utterly eclipsed their developing working relationship, but he had to start somewhere, almost tricking himself into having to say more. Jack eyed him, nervous.

'Sure.'

And Jesus, how had he managed to meet and talk to Jack in the past? How had he ever been able to snap at him, or act any way other than dreamy and infatuated? There had always been that vague knowledge in his head that Jack was objectively incredibly good looking, but it was one thing to distantly note that and quite another to be confronted with it after days of wonderful conversation and contemplation. His intense stare that was all at once brooding and caressing, or his broad chest and tanned, muscly arms, accentuated by how he rolled up his shirt sleeves like an asshole who didn't realise what he was doing to Davey. The way most of his words floated out through a sincere smile. Even what had been infuriating, like his relentless optimism - the more Davey tried to assess his attraction to Jack, the worse it got. 

But building something real took time, and Davey didn't have that. He could only see his future stretching in front of him as this day, over and over, which meant that he'd fall harder for Jack, but every day he would have to try anew to show Jack he wasn't an asshole. You couldn't ask someone to fall in love with you in a day, could you?

'Something really frightening is happening to me. And you're not going to believe it because I don't even believe it. But I need to try and tell someone about it.'

'What's going on?'

'I already know that it sounds crazy, so you don't need to point that out.'

'Dave.'

'And I don't know why it's happening to me and I don't know how to stop it.'

'Dave!'

'This day... Has happened to me over, and over, and over again.'

There was a moment of silence. Jack stared at him, thinking for a second, before sitting back in his seat.

'Very dramatic, Davey, wow. I thought you were going to say something shocking.'

'No, I mean literally. Really. I wake up, and it's February 2nd, 2017. I do the thing - the Groundhog thing, I come here, I whatever, and I go to sleep, and wake up on February 2nd again. I wouldn't believe me either, but you have to.'

'That's... Have you had a knock to the head?'

'No! God, this day! I've lived it about a hundred times, each one a little different, but still the exact same!'

'It sounds like you're - I'm not a doctor, but -'

'I've been to doctors. Therapists. Everything. Nothing, no-one - because yeah, I live through the day, and I wake up, and it's just me who's been here and done this, just me! It's not fair!' His tone was frantic and hushed, and he almost regretted bringing this up, but he had to try. Even if it didn't help, he had to try. He let out a quick sigh and glanced down at the table. 'I'm doing a terrible job at explaining it.'

'Is this a dream you've had?'

'Not a dream. Not a dream, I promise. Listen - come with me. I've been through this whole day, again and again, it's like I can see into the future, but it's the present.'

'I feel like you're playing a really weird prank on me, Davey.' 

'No. I'm not. Come on, I'm normal, I promise - I wouldn't be trying to convince you if I wasn't telling the truth. Come on.' He stood up and waited a long few seconds for Jack to follow. 'Will you humour me?' He swore he could physically feel Jack's stare on him. ‘Please?’

'Fine.'


	9. Bit of a Day

Jack stared at him. The puppy licked his face. The delivery man handed Davey a cupcake. 

‘You can understand… why I’m sceptical… right?’

'I can. I know. I don’t know how to convince you that I’m telling the truth. But I need to try.’

'Sounds like fake news, Dave.’

Davey had made them pause outside the entrance to the diner, and implored Jack to wait and see that what he said was going to happen, was going to happen. Show, not tell. He reasoned that the burden of proof was his, and he probably wouldn’t believe someone telling him something like this without actual evidence.

'There’s more! There’s more stuff - come on.’ They walked down the street, back towards the motel. 'There’s a guy cleaning the window at the motel. In like a minute when we arrive he’s going to fall off his ladder.’

'Wait, if you know it’s going to happen shouldn’t we try and stop it?’

'I don’t know. I sound like an asshole, but - I tried to help once and he still fell. On me. And broke my arm.’

'Broke your -’ Jack glanced down at Davey’s arm.

'Yeah.’

'So this is like an alternate timeline thing?’

'Yes! No. Kind of. Not really, jeez, I don’t know.’

’… Right.’

'It’s this lady, it’s her dog.’

As Jack delivered the puppy back into its owner’s arms Davey watched with a wince as the window washer toppled to the ground. He sat up straight away, as he probably had every single time this had happened, and for a second Davey felt incredibly cruel, like it was somehow in his control whether or not this guy endured this pain every day - but then for this guy each time was the first time, at least. Davey going through breaking his arm every day would be another thing.

He ran over to the man anyway, with Jack and the two ladies. On cue he insisted he was fine, in a voice that suggested he’d had the wind knocked out of him.

It felt wrong to be holding back from trying to stop that happening. If the universe was telling him to fix all these things, why would it break his arm when he tried? Should he be trying to fix any of these things at all, even the things like the lost dog? There had to be a right combination of events. 

He stilled as he stumbled upon the idea of some things being out of control - only some things. Did he have to learn, maybe, which things were and weren’t in his control? That was compelling. In his control: the puppy, his attitude, his career. Out of his control: the man falling off the ladder, the weather, Punx being a bullshit place. If this groundhog day thing was an exercise in understanding what in his life he could or should take control of, it was working. Or starting to work, because it wasn’t over. He obviously hadn’t learned it all yet, because then there was Jack.

Was the way Jack felt about him in his control or out of his control?

He could apologise for being irritable and negative, but he couldn’t make Jack fall for him. Could he, even if he had more than one day? Would it had even occurred to him? He felt such a disconnect with the Davey who had initially driven down to Punx, that he had to wonder if that guy would ever pull his head out of his ass long enough to realise that Jack was more than a veneer of confidence and a chirpy voice.

The thought made him cringe and not for the first time a flush of gratitude at this fucked up situation flared through him. If Groundhog Day hadn’t happened, he’d still be shuffling through life in Philly with his eyes on his laptop, fully ignorant of the fact that there was more to existence than being pissed off about your job. 

They watched Mrs. Bloom lead the man into the motel. Jack turned to Davey.

'What else is going to happen, Marty McFly?’

'Ha ha. Follow me.' 

He led Jack on what turned into an informal tour of Punx. Down the main road, through the park, he talked Jack through what was about to happen.

'First, when we turn out of the park and walk by the graveyard, there’s going to be a broken down car with a bunch of old women in it. I keep meaning to google how to fix it, but I always forget. Then if we go to the bar, there’s a bunch of guys in there. One of them is going to knock someone else’s drink over and then there’s going to be a fight - I’m pretty sure I can stop that. We’ll see.’

If nothing else he had stumbled upon another way to spend the day with Jack. The thought had entered his head that breaking his arm again would almost be worth all that time spent in the waiting room with him, but he tried to ignore it. The snow was already calming down a little but there was a sharp chill in the air. Jack’s cheeks and nose were a little red. 

'Sounds like a lot to keep up with.’

'Apparently Punx is a little more exciting than I gave it credit for.’ They fell into a comfortable silence as Davey started to mull over exactly what he meant by that. 

As soon as they left the park they could see the smoke from the car’s exhaust cutting through the cold air, and Jack took the lead in heading over. Two women stood on the sidewalk, hands on hips, staring at it.

'Ladies, what happened here?' 

Davey stood a few steps away, arms folded, watching. 

'The engine won’t stop stalling, dear, and suddenly it just, well…’ One of them gestured to the stream of smoke. 

'We’re so close to home, too, but we can’t get the darn thing started again!’

'It’s your lucky day. Why don’t you get back in, stay warm, and I’ll have a look at this thing.’ The women predictably did what Jack said, apparently as powerless to that devastating smile as Davey now was, and Jack moved round to look under the bonnet. 

This was fine. This was totally fine. Jack was certainly not making Davey’s infatuation worse by coming to the rescue of a group of townsfolk like a god damn housewife fantasy, and there was nothing sexy about him effortlessly prodding around in the car’s business, because that was a dumb gendered stereotype about masculinity and Davey was  _better than that._

Jack stood up and replaced the bonnet, snapping Davey out of his internal conflict.

'Do you know where the auto shop is?’

Punx being Punx it was only a few minutes away, and after reassuring the women that their car was fine, Jack and Davey headed off to buy them a new air filter. Just like that Jack had gone out of his way to help these strangers, Davey mused,  and this wasn’t even his fucked up redemption story. The longer he spent with Jack the more he felt he was meant to learn something from him, and also the more he found himself falling for him. 

The next stop, then, was the bar. They politely declined a ride in the already full car, Jack insisting that the women getting home safe was payment enough for the air filter he replaced for them, and headed there. 

They paused inside the doorway. When Davey had been in here before, it had been a careless pool player extending the cue too far back so the end knocked an almost full pint glass off the table. In theory, stopping it was as easy as just moving the glass. In practise?

It was going to happen any second. He really didn’t want there to be a fight. 

He’d struggled with this even before Groundhog Day, the horrible feeling of knowing that you should intervene but not being sure that you actually could - hoping that someone else was going to but also knowing that they were all probably having the same thoughts. Oh jesus.

He clocked the pint glass and the pool cue, and dodged between the two clumps of men so he could move the drink just a few inches to the right. He stepped back and saw the pool player draw the cue back and shoot it with no consequence. Crisis averted. Not elegant at all, but effective.

Apart from the biker who was now staring at Davey. As well he might, being that Davey, half a foot shorter and the only one not dressed in leather, had slunk into what was obviously their turf and manhandled his beer.

(He was pretty sure this guy always won the fight so it wasn’t even like he’d done him a favour, and meanwhile the pool player continued, ignorant.)

'Sorry I - I thought it was… mine.’ He stared back up. 'But it’s… not. It’s yours.’ The biker towered over him, seemed like he was getting closer. 'What - uh, which is it? Have you tried the um, the -’ A hand landed on his bicep from behind and he flinched - but it was Jack, gently tugging him away before he talked himself into getting beaten up. The man stared him down as he let himself be led towards an empty table, and he sat heavily with a sigh. 

'Problem is, if you stop something happening, people don’t believe that it ever would have happened, right?' 

'That’s why the best superheroes are the ones you’ve never heard of. You want a drink?’

'I require a drink.' 

When Jack came back from the bar and sat down across from Davey, he had a hard contemplative look on his face.

'Don’t punch me but…’ Jack bit his lip, considering his next few words. 'I feel like if you  _really_  wanted to, for whatever reason… this could still be faked. I mean - it has to be fake!! I mean. Jesus, Davey.’

'What reasons would I have for faking this?’

'I don’t know! I… like… I don’t know, you’re the one doing it!’

'Right. Okay. How about this?’ Davey took a deep breath in. 'I don’t know how many times I’ve done this day. Maybe fifty, sixty. Maybe more. Probably more - a hundred, or something. I don’t know. And each one has changed depending on what I do. You with me?’

'So you can like… in theory… make them turn out different.’

'Exactly! But a lot of the time it’s just been… inquisitive. Nosy. Finding things out. Basically we’ve talked. A lot. You and me - in the diner, in this bar, in the emergency room. And I know everything about you.’

Jack stared at him, his cheeks flushing a little. Davey continued.

'Even though we only had our first real conversation yesterday - “yesterday” - I know that… you went to UMich because you’d never been out of New York and wanted to get far away. I know that you grew up in foster care. I know that your best friend from childhood is called Romeo and you’ve got a birth mark on your shoulder. I have one too. We compared, in the bar, in one of the first - cycles, I’ve started calling them.’

Jack kept staring. Davey was freaking him out. But he couldn’t think of a way to do this that wouldn’t freak him out. So he kept going.

'I know that you think that I think I’m too good for this job. We had a talk about that and it made me think. About why this thing might be happeneing to me, cause I’ve been going through day after day, annoyed that I’m getting nowhere but doing nothing about it. And you made me realise. Even though you don’t remember. I really appreciate it.’

'I’m not saying I believe you, but… Would this be why you’re suddenly kind of…’

'Nicer?’

'No! Wait, not NO, just - not that you weren’t nice before. I mean. Yeah. You seem warmer. Buying us coffees. Talking to us. And stuff.’

'That’s what this is. I feel like being stuck with the consequences of my bad attitude for what feels like eternity has shown me how unproductive and irritating I was before - or, yesterday, as far as you’re concerned. Tell me it doesn’t make sense.’

Jack sighed. 'What else has happened in these days?’

'So there was the one where I broke my arm.’ The detail that he’d then asked Jack out was on the tip of his tongue but he decided to leave it there. 'Um. I offended you in one. Walked around the motel in my underwear. Spent a lot, like, a  _lot_  of time watching TV. Finally finished Breaking Bad which is, you know, kind of productive. There was one - this is the funniest thing - where I was feeling so so good, so I called Andy and asked for a promotion. And he said yes. And then it went away.’

'Shit, Dave.’

'Yeah. I -’

Spot appeared to collect their empty glasses, silencing Davey. Jack eyed him. Davey blushed and waited for Spot to go before continuing.

'I, um… I went home with him. Once or twice, or…’ He cleared his throat. 'Sixteen times.’ Jack raised his eyebrows.

'Da _vey._ ’

'I know, I know. Not classy. But.’

'No, no, I get it! Like, that’s probably what I would do. If I could do this thing. Get really, really good at sex. Put the time to good use.’ He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. 'But then don’t you only have a day to get him into bed?’

'I kind of have a… like, a routine now? I know that if I acknowledge him in the square in the morning, get talking to him in here in the evening, say the right things, god, it sounds so skeevy to say it out loud.’

'No, I - wow. And then tomorrow none of it will have ever happened?’

'Yeah. I’ll remember it. You won’t. February 2nd. Groundhog Day.’

'Oh man. You must be so sick of that rodent.’

'You have no idea.’

'Do you explain this to me every day? 50 First Dates style?’

'I might. This is the first time I’ve tried. Some days I just lie in bed all day.’

'You miss the broadcast?’

'I have a bunch of times. You and Crutchie actually manage great without me.’

'I’m sure that’s not true.’

'What else do you do? Lots of rescuing people and saving the day?’

'Haha, no… Sometimes I just go to the diner and pound a stack of pancakes and ice cream.’

'Let’s do it.’

//

'What would you do? Do you think?’

'This. Whole bunch of this.’ Jack gestured towards the food being heaped on their table. 'This is the dream. Then I’d…’ He was quiet for a few seconds. 'I’d learn all the languages in the whole world. Sign language. Norwegian. All of 'em. Learn to cook. Watch Titanic. Read War and Peace. Oh, learn to play everything, all the instruments, sing, whatever.’

'Lot of learning.’

'Yeah, I mean - hated school, loved learning, but now it’s like, I got no time, you know? But if I did.’

Davey nodded, staring down at his plate. Jack was right. He should be the one with all this time, not Davey - all Davey had done was use it to eat 10,000 calories a day and sleep. What was he thinking?

'Jack… How have you got it so right? How did you know that’s what I should be doing?’

'I didn’t… I don’t know. I just think that’s what I would do.’

'What do you wanna do now?’

'Now?’

'Yeah, I’ve been dragging you around all day.’

'You haven’t been -’

'C'mon.’

'Fine…’ Jack glanced out the window. 'How about watching the sun go down in the park?’

//

'I can’t believe I’ve never thought to do this.’

They stood atop a hill in the park. The snow had only recently stopped so there was a fresh blanket around them, and a biting chill in the air as the sun set over the horizon in a blaze of orange. Davey had already snuck several glances at Jack, his serene face lit up, a hint of red on his cheeks and the end of his nose, so he was nervous about taking another one but found he couldn’t resist. 

His breath caught in his throat as Jack turned his head to meet his gaze. 

'Probably hard to remember stuff like this when you’ve got that much going on.’

'You’re right. Thanks. For reminding me.’

Jack responded with a smile and turned back to watch. They stayed there as the sky around them grew dark and Davey tried to figure out if it meant something that he felt so comfortable in Jack’s company, or if he was indulging in too much wishful thinking. It was easy for him to feel like today was almost something like a date because he had been letting himself think of Jack in that way, but it had still been less than twelve hours since he told Jack what was going on. As much as he felt like their relationship had really started to turn into something, he had to remember that. 

'Can I stay up with you?’ Jack asked this without looking at him. Davey watched his breath freeze.

'Stay up?’

'To see what happens? At midnight?’

'Of course you can.’ What did he mean? Stay here in the park? The bar? The motel room? 'I don’t know if anything’s going to happen.’

'It’ll be cool to see, right?’

'Right.’

//

Jack had suggested treating the night like a sleepover, remembering how as a kid he could never fall asleep at them. They thus found themselves in Davey’s motel room, sprawled on the bed, watching movies and eating candy, fighting the fatigue that was catching up with them rapidly. It was a long, mentally taxing day for both of them and while they couldn’t comprehend doing anything more active than doing what they were doing, it was getting harder and harder to keep their eyes open.

Davey leaned back against the pillows, and Jack lay on the bed next to him, both watching the credits roll on Davey’s laptop at the end of the bed. Jack spoke first, voice husky with tiredness.

'What time is it?’

'Almost 12.’

'What’s going to happen?’

'I’ve never been awake for it. I don’t know.’

'I might turn into dust. Or a cloud of smoke. Or glitter!’ He held his hand out in front of his face. 'You’ve never stayed up to see?’

'No. This life is exhausting enough. Usually at the end of the day I’m too excited to see it disappear.’

'Same with today?’

'Not really.’

Jack grinned. He stared up at the ceiling. 'It has been a long day.’

'I know. Thanks for listening to me.’

'It’s been fun, too.’

'Yeah. It has been.’ He looked down at Jack, lying next to him, hair tickling his arm. 'Jack?’

'What?’

'If this - fixes it, breaks it, whatever. If we wake up on February 3rd. Will you still believe me?’

Jack took a second. He glanced down then back up. 'Yeah. Probably.’

'Thanks.’

'What time is it now?’

'Still almost 12.’

'What time exactly?’

'11:58.’

'Got anything else you wanna do before the day disappears?’

Lots of things, Davey thought. He watched Jack stifle a yawn. Took a deep breath in.

'I wanna say that… I’m glad that if I had to do this day over and over, it was with you.’

'Aw, stop it.’ Jack beamed at him before yawning again.

'You can go to sleep. I won’t mind.’

'It’s fine, I’m not even tired.’ He closed his eyes.

Maybe it was how Jack had voluntarily lay down so close to him, or how today had felt so much more revelatory than all the other days, but he let himself be compelled by the urge to lower his hand and comb his fingers through Jack’s hair. Time froze as Jack inhaled at the contact, but then he let out a long sigh, keeping his eyes closed as Davey kept running his hand through. 

'Feels so good.’ He barely opened his mouth, snuggling just a little closer to Davey. This wasn’t nothing. Couldn’t be nothing. He surprised Davey by continuing to talk. 'Don’t laugh. The car thing… Did it to impress you.' 

Davey couldn’t stop the grin stretching across his face. Jack opened one eye to look up at him. 'I said don’t laugh!’

'I’m not!’

'Don’t know what I thought would happen. Probably worked better on the women in the car.

'It definitely worked better on them. Shoulda heard what they were saying about you.’

'Would I be shocked?’

'That’s one word for it.’

The clock ticked on. Davey stroked Jack’s hair. Jack changed the subject.

'It’s weird.’ He spoke in a low voice into the room. Davey waited for a clarification. 'How… How different you can see a person after just a day.’ His breath caught in his throat. 

'How do you mean?’

'You know… ’M sorry, Dave.’

'What?’

'For thinking that you were like… Square. Robot. Whatever. Shoulda given you a chance.’

'Jack… Shut up.’ He said this kindly, quietly. 'Please don’t say sorry for how I’ve been acting. That was me, but things changed.’

'I don’t know… This guy had to be in there somewhere, right?’ He finally sat up. Davey let his hand fall to the bed. Jack turned around and pointed at him, lazily letting his fingertip rest on Davey’s chest. 'Maybe deep down, but definitely in there.’

'It’s… cause of you.’ Davey’s words were barely audible. 'You’ve made me better, and you don’t even know.’ He gulped, stomach fizzing.

Jack was kneeling next to him, knees against the outside of his thigh. Davey was still reclined back on the pillows. They stared steadily at each other. Every second that passed made the inevitable more so but both carried the tiny hint of reticence until Davey, fuelled by the horrible knowledge that his actions might, could, would be erased - sat up, drawing himself level with Jack, and Jack took this as the cue that it was. 

Even as their lips met and Davey felt the sweet culmination of days spent longing and longing for Jack, even as he was finally able to cup Jack’s face, lean his chest into him, let out a soft moan at how good and right it felt, and even as he could tell somewhere deep in his mind that he would always always remember the way Jack’s hand stroked his jaw and then moved up into his hair, and how his kiss was like a sweet nothing and a long sigh and a warm hug all wrapped up in a neat package - he could still feel that jarring distinction between the exasperated Davey that had arrived in Punx with a weatherman who was too god damn optimistic and needed to get the fucking broadcast over with, and the one who had spent the day talking and listening to Jack, laughing with him, smiling, all of it. Jack was kissing him just a day after arriving into Punx with him, and maybe that meant he was right - maybe it meant that he had been hibernating the person he really was under layers of strict standoffish personality, because how else could Jack be kissing him like this?

Jack pressed him back into the bed, hovering over his lap, alternating between hard, long kisses and soft, coaxing ones, and he gripped Jack’s waist under his shirt, trying to bring him even closer than he was. Obscene, muffled groans escaped their mouths and Jack straddled one of Davey’s legs. 

They broke apart for breath, foreheads resting against each other, and Davey stroked a knuckle along Jack’s cheekbone. 

'I’ve wanted that for so long,’ he bit his lip as Jack started planting kisses along his jaw and down his neck.

'You shoulda said,’ Jack replied. He ran the pad of his thumb over Davey’s bottom lip, staring down in reverence. 'I wish you’d said.’

'You know now.' 

Jack nodded and kissed him again, short and sweet. 'I can’t keep my fucking eyes open.' 

'It’s okay. Can’t stay up forever.’ Davey glanced over at the alarm clock. 12:14. 'It’s February 3rd. Right?’

'Yeah. It is.' 

'I’m still scared of falling asleep. I’m scared that if I do, this will all go away.’

'You can’t not sleep.’

Davey pulled him down for another kiss, and as his eyes fluttered closed he could feel them stinging. He was so close to passing out, and he knew Jack was too.

'Right. You’re right. Let’s just… Stay? Please?’

'I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.’ Jack settled down next to him, head on his shoulder, hand flat on Davey’s chest. 'Dave… If what you’ve said is true… If tomorrow’s Groundhog Day again… Listen, I always thought you were hot, okay? When I first met you, even driving up yesterday. Always. And you being this new, warm, sweet guy - I’m just yours. Easy.’

Davey’s breath caught in his throat as he rested his hand on Jack’s. What Jack had just given him, in saying that - it let him drift off into the sleep he’d been fighting so hard with the knowledge that even if this beautiful day was erased in the morning, everything wasn’t lost. But there was only one way to find out. 


	10. Same Day Different Shit

As he fell asleep that night, he thought ahead to the morning, what waking up on February 3rd with Jack Kelly in his bed would be like. No alarm, because there was no real rush to get anywhere. It would be seven or eight. He'd open his eyes slowly, blinking against the light of the sun streaming in, stretch his arms up over his head, let out a huge yawn, think about what he had to do that day. 

Then he'd remember.

Or maybe, he'd feel the slightest movement of Jack just a few inches away, and it would all wash over him. He'd recall the night before, the quiet murmured conversation in the darkening room, Jack's sleepy gaze, his tired eyes flickering shut as he leaned in, and the...

It would come back to him at once, all through his body, his skin tingling, a smile crossing his face as he turned over and saw Jack fast asleep. He'd shamelessly watch, indulging in being allowed to observe everything about him, the faint lines on his face, every single eyelash, slightly parted lips, and then his breath would catch in his throat as Jack woke up and looked right at him. Nervous about coming on too strong, he'd hold off on what he wanted to do, which would probably be to reach out, cup Jack's face, welcome him to the new morning, and then maybe Jack would smile lazily and shuffle towards him, murmuring something completely adorable like  _five more minutes._  Instead he’d just move a little closer, not too far, just enough so he could feel the warmth radiating from Jack, and then he’d drift back away, safe in the knowledge that Jack wasn’t about to disappear. 

This image was so vivid and clear in his head that when he woke up alone the next morning, he almost got scared. Scared that something terrible had happened in the night, because there was no other reason why Jack shouldn't be there. The weird thing, however, was that despite waking up to another February 2nd alone in a bed that felt way too big, the feeling of euphoria lingered persistently. It was there, in his chest, that buoyant swell of excitement, and he could still feel tingling everywhere Jack had touched him the night before. It took a long while to adjust to being where he was. 

He lay still and waited, like he often did, to remember everything that had happened the day before. Telling Jack, showing him everything, being with him all day. It almost hurt to think about, but he knew that soon enough it would be too painful to remember, so for now he let himself.

_I always thought you were hot._

God, what had he said exactly?

_I'm yours, easy._

Something like that?

It should have made him want to curl up in a ball and grin like a maniac, this satisfied infatuation that he hadn't felt in such a long time. But it wasn't real. Even if it felt real. He gave himself ten seconds to think about Jack. And Jack's lips, and hands, and eyes, and arms, and - okay. Done. Stop it. He had to figure out what today was going to be. 

Upstairs in room 12, Jack Kelly was waking up.

After orientating himself with his room and where the fuck he was, Jack climbed out of bed, crossed over to the window and looked out across Punx as he yawned and stretched. It wasn't quite light out, and the sky was his favourite dusky blue, a shade he had only started seeing since working as a weatherman, and it felt like he was the only person awake in the whole town. It was his first broadcast outside of the station and he'd never expected to be so relieved to be getting out of Philly. The air was fresher, the people kinder, it seemed, and he kind of  _liked_  not being able to get a decent phone signal. He was a little sad that they only got to spend a day out there.

Just because it was something different, and things that were different always made him curious, he had harboured one or two... tentative imaginings about this time away. Not like  _that._  Well. Not  _necessarily_  like that. Because, okay, he'd been at the station about a month, and he was really friendly with most people there - apart from Davey. He'd seen him a bunch around the station, spotted him through the glass walls of meeting rooms, had approximately one and a half conversations with him, so he liked to think he could be forgiven for wanting to find out more about this apparently sullen, strict producer. Davey was his age, and he was  _cute,_  that was the problem. Jack had been thinking, as he eyed Davey surreptitiously on the drive up, that he'd be fascinated to see him really relax, let go, laugh - even smile, he bet a grin on Davey would be yep, unnerving, but dazzling. That was why he had invited him to explore Punx with them the night before. He was enigmatic in a way - Jack didn't know anything about him, but he'd bet there was a shitload of stuff happening below the surface.

But they were driving back straight after the broadcast. He'd just have to find another way to figure Davey out.

Not to say he couldn't ask Crutchie - Crutchie had been at the station way longer than him and was bound to know, because he seemed to know everyone, he was that kind of guy. He was excited about Punx too, because he'd managed to actually become friends with some of the locals which was frankly, god damn heartwarming. But friendship was a two way street, and Jack got the impression Davey might have been one of the only people to resist Crutchie's easy openness. 

After showering and getting dressed he walked back over to the window. The sun was coming up and like a switch flipped people were swarming down the street towards the square. The day reeked of new potential. 

On the way to the square with Crutchie he grinned back at people, returning waves and greetings, revelling in that small-town camaraderie. He couldn't exactly see himself living in a place like this but boy if he didn't eat that shit up. It seemed such a shame to breeze through, to do the thing and then leave, but then, he wasn't the producer, Davey was, and they were here to do a job.

'How is it you seem to know everyone in this town?' He asked Crutchie as they neared the square, slowed down considerably by the teams of Punx natives stopping them to see how Crutchie was. 

'I just get talking to people, I guess! Davey normally leaves me to it, and these people are way more interesting than you'd give 'em credit for.'

'God, you're so wholesome, I love it. Thought this place was gonna be hell.'

'That's Dave's influence for ya.'

'What is that? I don't think I've ever seen the guy laugh or smile or anything before.'

'I think he's unhappy. Not always miserable, right, but he's not satisfied.'

'Almost feel bad for him.'

'Yeah, me too. But the longer this unhappiness goes on, the harder it is to claw out of, I think.'

'What does he want, though?'

'That I don't know. Famously closed book, David Jacobs.' 

They reached the square. People were dancing, making music, passing out cups of cocoa and mulled wine. It was irresistible, and their journey to the front of the square, through the crowd, was peppered with good-natured mandatory participation. A group of older ladies taught Jack how to dance to the day's anthem, and it occurred to him how the problem was that Davey would never open himself up to this kind of fun despite how it had a cheering, buoyant effect - but he decided, as he skipped round in circles, that he probably wouldn't appreciate being told that. 

Davey arrived not long after them, hurrying through the crowd, hands deep in pockets, seeming a lot like he had already thought himself into a bad mood. 

'Morning, sunshine!' Okay, Jack could have maybe thought of a more tactful greeting, but he was determined not to let Davey's bad attitude affect him. Davey looked up at him, his eyes strikingly tired, his whole vibe just  _exhausted._

'Morning, guys. We ready for this thing?'

'We're all good to go,' Crutchie answered, vaguely concerned, a little nervous that anything he said would put Davey in a worse mood. 'We've checked the link with the studio in Philly, due to start in about five.'

'Sounds great, thanks Crutchie.' Davey glanced down. 'Ready, Jack?' 

'Born ready.' Jack stared at him until he looked back up. There was something unreadable on his face, a kind of manic negative energy, like he'd already been through hell and back before 7am, despite having woken up in paradise and probably having had about twelve hours of sleep, easy. Jack was worried, but he didn't know Davey well enough to intrude. Should that stop him? Couldn't that pave the way into getting to know Davey? Even if he didn't think he was cute, he was still allowed to want to help. 'I, uh, I can't believe how eager you are to blow this place. Don't you love being out of the city just a little?' He expected Davey to respond instantly with some kind of anti-Punx comment. 

'I,,, don't know.' He glanced over his shoulder at the crowd and turned to Crutchie. 'Crutchie, what are your plans today?'

'After we head back?'

'If we were to stay in Punx a little longer. Hypothetically.'

'It would be good to catch up with some people, I guess. Got a lot of folks I only see once a year. Why?'

'Mind if I join you?'


	11. Crutchie Day

Davey sat on the side of the bed, like he had done so many times before, and stared at the carpet.

He was  _tired._ That was the worst thing.

Because one thing he knew now was that he had to resist the urge to lay in bed. He had to figure this out, because what happened with Jack the night before was worth breaking out of this thing for, even if it meant he had to think outside the box and refocus his concentration elsewhere. As much as he wanted the answer to this thing to be getting together with Jack, the fact that he’d woken up again on this fucking day told him that there was something else. He knew that he could show Jack that he was deeper than he thought, and he could keep that knowledge in the back of his head. There was clearly something else he needed to do.

The punchline was that as each day passed he felt worse, more tired, in a way less able to inflict whatever change he knew he had to. Even as he stood up, shoving the duvet off the bed, striding over to the window, he thought, not for the first time, that he could just live, just give up and accept this was his existence until - well, he couldn’t live forever, could he? But it was the memory of the night before and the glimmer of hope that the days beyond this one would be so extraordinarily different that forced him to brainstorm, forehead resting against cool window pane, eyes darting over the street between the crowds, what else he could try.

Because even if he indulged and tried his last version of the day again, telling Jack, contriving a day together, part of the excitement had come from the novelty of it. Not that he would say no to kissing Jack again, but he couldn’t bear the thought it those circumstances becoming routine - what was the point, if it wasn’t leading to anything? Apart from the obvious reason that kissing Jack was fucking awesome, but then would trying it again and again dull the flame, the best thing he’d felt in so long?

Maybe this thing wasn’t about Jack at all. God, he wished it was, but that would be way too kind of the universe. He’d already learned a lesson, that he shouldn’t judge people before knowing them whatever whatever, and he knew that there was an insane reward for achieving this in the form of Jack Kelly actually  _liking him back_ \- but then, he’d be the first to admit that he could have had more than one lesson to learn. Damn it. 

Plus there was so god damn much to remember. It was like studying for his college finals all over again, but instead of getting an F he got relegated back to 6am February 2nd. Would he remember every single thing he’d said to Jack the day before? He remembered exactly what Jack had said to him, that sweet, sweet  _I’m yours_ but they’d spent all day together. It was getting so hard to try to replicate his days exactly, that trying something new almost seemed to him like a relief. But what?

He watched people stream down the street in front of him and with a jolt spotted Jack and Crutchie amongst them, Crutchie’s distinctive blue and orange bobble hat a beacon, and he noticed their journey was considerably slowed by a slew of puffa-clad well-wishers stopping to grab Crutchie for a hug.

Crutchie didn’t dread coming here. He didn’t wait for Groundhog Day to pass, or write it off as a boring work task, he engaged with Punx and the poor bastards who lived here. He got to know people. He did what Davey had been focusing on doing with Jack, but on a huge scale. God, the thought of all that effort made Davey’s fatigued bones ache even more, but he had already sort of come to terms with the fact that fixing this thing wouldn’t be easy. Even if it was a slog, he reasoned with himself, it wasn’t inherently a chore. He was a television producer, talking to new people was his job.

He straightened up, taking a deep breath in. He was going to see Crutchie’s Punxsutawney.

//

‘Join me? Sure! That would be great, Davey.’ Crutchie grinned, because he was a nice guy, but his furrowed brow betrayed his understandable confusion.

'Thanks. I just, y'know. I feel bad that we've come here so much and I don't know anyone.'

'Hey, it's easily done. I'd love to just take an hour or something before driving back to Philly, if you're not in a rush?'

Davey blinked, struggling with the fact that he knew they'd be trapped here by snow, and they had no idea. 'Yeah. Right, of course. We can play it by ear.' 

'What changed?' 

He'd been trying to avoid looking at Jack for as long as he could because he knew that when he did he'd be overcome by memories of the night before, and probably start drooling or crying or worse - but seeing as Jack was about to do a broadcast literally in front of him, that avoidance couldn't last long. He turned to him to reply to his question, breath catching in his throat as he saw how Jack was eyeing him like he knew something was wrong. 

'I was just. Thinking about it. After you guys went out last night - you'd never been here before and you still, y'know, participated. It's nice.'

'Are you... okay?' Jack squinted at him.

'I'm fine.'

'You look kinda tired.'

'I... Didn't sleep great.'  _I was up late making out with you._  Oh God. The way Jack's gaze had dropped to his mouth the night before, how he could literally feel his breath on his lips and then the warmth of his skin under his shirt, all smooth muscle and firm chest, the way he threw his whole self into kissing Davey from the obvious hard open press of his mouth to the way he maneuvered himself into Davey's lap, straddling his thigh, cupping Davey's face and stroking a thumb along his cheek and then his parted lips after they broke apart to catch their breath. And the way he had overwhelmed Davey's senses in a way that he'd almost forgotten how to comprehend, how to imagine - this was all Davey could think about in the cold light of a new February 2nd, Jack standing opposite him, completely oblivious that he was consuming his producer's entire being.

'Nervous about the broadcast? I was a little, about being out of the studio, you know?'

'Yeah. Maybe it's that.' 

Fanfare started. Jack did the presentation perfectly, reciting the words in the same chipper, confident intonation Davey had heard so many times and had kind of grown to like. The broadcast's familiarity was at this point comforting, way nicer than the alarm clock he heard every day - if he had to experience the same thing over and over again, at least it was a beautiful weatherman grinning into the camera. 

As the snow started to fall after the ceremony, Davey spoke up, indulging the exhaustion he felt while trying to make this day into something. 'I really don't feel like trying to fight through a blizzard to get back. I think we should hibernate in the diner and drink ten cups of coffee, what do you guys think?'

'I think you're on to something,' Crutchie grinned as he slung his camera bag over his shoulder. Davey felt like Jack was looking at him but didn't want to check in case he  _was_  and eye contact happened. This day was not. About. Jack. And he didn't need memories of the night before affecting his ability to form sentences. 

They headed out of the square with the rest of the crowd and obviously after about a second someone requisitioned Crutchie for a hello, so Jack and Davey walked along, shoulders brushing due to the crowds of people around them. 

'Woulda thought you'd be starting the car soon as the groundhog went home,' Jack chanced, pulling the brim of his woolly hat down.

'I don't know. Me too, I guess.'

'It's nice. I mean. I know I already asked, and you don't have to say - but, are you okay?'

'I'm fine! I’m fine - I kind of had this... realisation, maybe, that Punx is, you know... A place, rather than a burden.'

'Shit, since last night? Bit of a one-eighty, right?'

'Yeah. Weird, I know.'

They ambled along in silence, eyes squinted against the snow, Davey trying to think of where he and Jack actually were at this point - the only things he could think of to say alluded to everything they'd been through - to Davey, everything, but to Jack just a car ride. 

'I just learned the, um -' Jack won, coming up with a conversation topic first. 'The dance for today. These people are really something else.'

'Yeah?' And now Davey could see that this was Jack acting on the part of himself that wanted people to be comfortable, involved, and how incredible that quality in him was. 'How does it go?'

'I mean, I'm not very good at it, yet. But.' He raised his arms over his head, palms flat and facing upwards, and jigged a little, grin spreading across his face. 'Sexy, right?'

'I don't know if that's... the  _first_  word I'd use.'

'First word would be sensual, I know.'

'Um...'

'Seductive?'

'Sure. Of course.'  _You think I'm hot. You said so. Shut up, Davey, are we really thinking about this now?_

'Guys!' Crutchie called them over as they reached the entrance to the square. 'This is Race.' The guy standing by him, dark haired, bright-eyed, gave them a quick grin. 'He just moved here. This is Jack and Davey, we're just passing through.'

'What's up, guys.' Race shook their hands, and Davey marvelled at how Crutchie had just  _met him._  Just like  _that._

'How long have you been here?' 

'Two days,' He answered Jack's question with a nod. 'Yeah, I start my new gig on Monday.'

'I didn't realise people  _moved_  here.' That slipped out before Davey could stop it, but luckily the rest of them laughed. 

'I know. I know - or you have to be like, retiring here, right?'

'Exactly!' 

Race joined them at the diner, where Davey directed them towards the counter rather than the booth table he'd always shared with Jack. Sitting next to Race, he found that was about to start work in the  _Punxsutawney Spirit's_  marketing department, and had come from New York for the pleasure. This stumped him.

'From New... You moved from New York to - Really?' He was trying to be more understanding, to try and see why people stayed in Punx, but - New York?

'Yeah, I know. I still can't really believe it, but like - like who says that's the centre of the universe, you know?'

'I mean... Everyone.'

'Right. Okay, sure. Does that mean everyone's gotta live there?' 

'No. You're right - but why Punx?'

'Just, I guess I wanted to see, maybe. I don't know, I think I still kind of know that I can duck away if it doesn't work out, slip back into New York and no-one will have noticed I was gone.'

'The way you said that made it seem like a bad thing.'

'It probably is! Ask me again in a week, I might have... over romanticised this whole thing. I don't know.'

'I kind of see what you mean. Like I don't  _get it_  but.'

'They say everyone does it, right? Leaves the city.'

'Yeah. Yeah, maybe.'

He stared over the counter at the the toaster. Crutchie not dreading coming here - that was one thing. But Race had  _moved here._  By  _choice._  No-one had forced him, or paid him. That was a whole new thing. That was something else. 

'Crutchie.' He spoke across Race, ideas floating in his head. 'Do you think there's a feature in that?'

'In what?'

'In, like... People like Race, who move to places like Punx. Maybe even just people who live here.'

'What angle?'

'My angle. The one that always thought small towns were heinous. A feature to like... Show everyone, myself included probably, how there's - beauty in ordinary things.'

Jack stared at him. Crutchie stirred his milkshake thoughtfully. 

'Yeah.' He nodded slowly.

'Yeah?'

'Yeah. I think that's a thing.'

'Jack, would you be part of it?'

'Yeah man, of course.'

'And Crutchie, can you introduce me to people?' Davey pulled a notebook out of his satchel. 'Race, we need your story. Someone who chose Punx - and then, I know the bartender - I know  _of_  him, he was born here, his parents came. People like that. Who they are, what they want - can you think of anyone like that?'

'I can think of a bunch!’ 

'Great. This is going to be great.'

//

Davey flopped backwards onto his bed. His head was bursting with information and he felt like he was running on fumes but underneath all that was a distinct, new kind of optimism - like he could see the end in sight. Kissing Jack, or helping those people, he had humoured himself by letting himself think that those might have been the keys to breaking the cycle, but he could see that was self-indulgence. But now - if he could succeed in turning this whole thing into a positive, if he could stop wishing it away? 

He needed one more tomorrow. 

He rolled over on to his stomach and pulled out his notebook, full of scribblings of notes of people that he'd met, why they were worth a segment in the feature he was building in his head. On the next blank page he started to sketch out a plan - he knew that in the morning everything he'd written would have disappeared, but he needed it in front of him.

Writing out instructions for himself to utilise every second of the next day put this whole thing in perspective - if he showed this list to the Davey that drove up, he'd get laughed at. He wrote Jack's name down and paused, pen hanging over paper. 

The Jack situation had been elbowed into the backseat that day as he focused on the Punx situation. They were colleagues, after all, and maybe that was one thing that could wait until they were back in Philly. Damn it.

For the first time he crawled under the covers hoping that he'd wake up on February 2nd, because he was really fucking on to something. 


	12. The Longest Day Part 1

The night before, he had tried to set his alarm clock even earlier than it had already been, before forgetting that even that would be erased with the new morning. So he woke up at six, stomach twisting, hoping that he had enough minutes in the day to do what he wanted.

For the first time since all the bullshit started he stood up straight away, pulling on his lounge pants and slippers before slipping out of his room to go and find Jack and Crutchie before they left. They were in adjoining rooms so he knocked on Crutchie’s door, then Jacks. He beckoned Crutchie over to Jack’s room as he waited for Jack to open the door.

‘Everything okay, Davey?’ He was dressed but not quite awake yet, stifling a yawn as Davey answered.

'Yeah, I’m sorry to bother you, Crutchie. Wanted to catch you before you head off.’

'Is it about the broadcast? Cuz I think we’re gonna be fine, you know we could do it in our sleep.’

'It’s not. It’s something else.’ He stared at the door until it opened, aware that Crutchie was eyeing him. Jack appeared, a vision, eyes barely open, leaning on the doorframe like standing upright was way too much effort this time in the morning. 

'Five more minutes,’ he whined, and Davey cleared his throat, not looking at Jack’s biceps in the white vest he was wearing, or his messy hair, or the fluffy slippers he couldn’t help but double take at. He stood up straighter when he saw Davey, rubbing his eyes. 'Dave. To what do I owe -’ He let out a huge yawn, covering his face with his hand.

'Sorry to wake you, Jack.’

'Nah, been up for… hours.’ Movement over Jack’s shoulder caught Davey’s eye. He looked up, and his stomach dropped out of his ass as he watched the man in Jack’s bed roll over. He couldn’t see that much of him, just one bare leg and a pair of navy boxers, and he had the entire duvet bunched up in his arms like a jerk.  _Who_ the  _fuck_ was  _that_? He blushed fiercely and averted his gaze. Jack cleared his throat, pulling the door behind him and stepping out into the hall. 'Everything okay, Davey, thought we were meeting you there?’

'I - yeah. It’s fine. All fine. All great. I…’ Fuck. What had he come down for? God, what had Jack done? Where had he found this guy? Words. He had to find the words. 'Wanted - to - see you guys. Really quick. Before the broadcast.’ He turned to Crutchie, who was staring at him, vaguely concerned. 'Can we meet in the dining room in five minutes?' 

//  
He sat at the table, staring into space. 

Every… single… night. Every time he had woken up on this fucking day, Jack had been upstairs with that guy.

Crutchie sat opposite him and he forced himself to give him a shallow smile.

This whole time Davey had been slowly letting himself fall in love with Jack - and he knew, obviously, that it wasn’t a betrayal, because as far as Jack was concerned, they were nothing. 

'Sleep alright, Davey?’

'Huh? Oh.’ But if it had always happened, then even when he and Jack had kissed, that was less than a day after Jack had been with someone else. 'Yeah, it was okay. You?’

'Great! I love coming back to this place.' 

He himself had slept with Spot despite developing these feelings for Jack. He knew better than anyone, that that didn’t mean Spot was the love of his life. Jack wouldn’t have kissed him that night if the guy he had slept with was anything other than a one night thing.

'Guys.’ Jack sat down next to Crutchie. 'How we doing?’

So why did it feel like he’d been smacked in the face?

He made himself smile again, unable to look directly at Jack so settling on addressing Crutchie and a spot just a couple of inches left of Jack’s ear. 

'Thanks for coming down, guys. I know you’re excited to get out there. I just wanted to talk to you about an idea I had.’ He cleared his throat. He had rehearsed these words so much, falling asleep last night, in the shower just now - he just needed to find the rhythm. He had a whole list of things he needed to get done today, but they all hinged on telling Jack and Crutchie what he wanted to do. Logic dictated that they’d like the idea, since they had when he’d come up with it - but then what about any of this was logical anyway? 'It’s gonna be quick, and rough, because I want to get it done today - but I think it’s gonna work. It’s a feature, for the show, about Punx. Like, about the people who live here, who were born here. We come by for one day every year, piggybacking on their tradition, and running back to Philly, and I just - forget that it’s a place.’

Crutchie and Jack stared at him. Crutchie raised his eyebrows slowly and nodded. 

'Like… Humans of Punx.’ Jack replied.

'Exactly. I know I’m not the only person who thinks that you have to live in a big city to be fulfilled, at the expense of my wellbeing, and happiness, and just - like, I might be wrong. You know? So let’s find out. Crutchie, I thought, if you could tape it, plus be the kind of… like a researcher but you’ve already done the research, kind of thing. And Jack, I’d really like it if you could present it.’  _Also I love you and I’m kind of struggling here can you tell_. 'I wanna get a really clear idea of this before I pitch it to Andy, but I’ll make sure you get paid for the extra work.’ He took a breath. Finally looked Jack in the face. 'What do you think?’

//

'My dad… and my dad’s dad… and his dad… and his dad - they were all born here. It’s just where we are, y'know! If we don’t stay in one place, how can anyone find us?’

'You always knew you were gonna stay?’

'Oh yeah. People wanna try and say the grass is always greener on the other side, well, I don’t even believe that much. However green the grass is here, that’s how green it should be.’

'A lot of people would think a kid your age would wanna travel.' 

'Oh sure, I’ve travelled. Been to Thailand, Berlin, Australia, spent a summer in London. What a year.’ Jack raised his eyebrows but kept holding his mic out to the kid. 'Coming back to Punx was like a warm hug.’

'Can’t argue with that, except for maybe the “warm” part. Diane, you moved here?’

'When I was six. From Puerto Rico. Mom and dad heard about this place from a pen pal. Unassuming, they said, with a whole heap of personality. And they said if that’s not the perfect place.’

'We were next door neighbours,’ Nick continued for her. 'I was in the grade below. But I was smart. So I helped her with her homework through the fence. Then she started helping me with mine. Then we started helping each other with real problems, y'know, acne, parents fighting, sick pets. And we just never really stopped.’ He tightened the arm round her shoulders in a playful squeeze and she grinned, closing her eyes. 

Jack turned to the camera, eyes wide, and Davey observed from behind, arms folded, persistent envelope of anticipation unfolding in his stomach. How long had it been since he’d had a project he believed in? 

Not that this had been approved by Andy yet. That came later.

'Thanks, guys. Happy Groundhog Day.’ Jack shook their hands and waved as they headed off. 'Well, that was fucking adorable. I wanna watch their movie.’  
'Hopefully the guys at the network agree.’ He hadn’t expected to care this much. Obviously there was a lot at stake - he found himself so sure that this was the key, but then he had been that sure about other things. Kissing Jack, asking for a promotion. No, there was something else. Did he… God, did he care about getting this made? Did he… believe in Punx? Oh, fucking hell.

He walked along the high street with Jack and Crutchie, eyeing the crowds for potential subjects. He didn’t know if the people of Punx had surprised him or not, if he had expected their comments to hit so hard - or if he just hadn’t thought about it before.

His gaze chanced upon Spot, shuffling along a few yards away, hands in his pockets, scowl poking out from a thick blue scarf and woolly hat. He steered Crutchie and Jack over.

'Excuse me.’ Spot turned to him, apparently vaguely disbelieving but not necessarily annoyed at being stopped. 'Do you mind if we ask you a couple of questions about Punx?’ He was beautiful. Behind the glare. Actually, maybe still with the glare. Because he was here on this day, and that meant something.

'No thanks.’

'We’re looking for some words on what Punxsutawney means to people. Just a few comments?' 

Spot paused, looking like he’d already had about ten ideas jump into his head.

'Doesn’t really mean that much to me.’

'Well, that’s something. Could we start there?’ He stared at Spot. He knew he’d have something to say. 'We don’t have to show your face in it. Would that help?' 

'Fine.’

Jack started talking to Spot. Davey nudged Crutchie with a quiet 'May I?’ and took the camera, staring down into the monitor and focusing it on Spot’s hands as they fidgeted with the ends of his sleeves, his mouth as he paused between words to bite his lip, his feet as he balanced his weight while deciding what words to use. 

'I think Punx is… a place. Just like every other place. Rains here. Some people voted for Trump. Some didn’t. Might as well be here over anywhere else.’

'Shouldn’t you love where you live?’

'That’s unrealistic. I think. Maybe.’

'You could move?’

'I could. I don’t… love… this town. But I am trying.’ He sighed, squinting up into the bright cloud. 'Look, truth is, I trust my dad, and he picked this place. Even though he was a twenty year old punk when he came here. That means something, that he chose it. I coulda grown up in Brooklyn, where he was born. I’ve never been. Wouldn’t know what to do if I got there. Don’t know if that means I’m scared, or… Yeah.’

'See yourself taking the leap soon?’

'Maybe. Hopefully. Probably not - I still ah, have that little bit of hope. From him. That this is where I should be. Catch me when I’m eighty still hanging on to it.’

'You haven’t talked to that many people about this, have you?’

'Would you? Sun shines out of Punx’s ass, haven’t you heard.’

'Crutchie…’ Davey leaned over, trying not to disturb Spot’s rhythm. 'See that guy over there - the one on his own? Can you grab him?’ He flicked his gaze back and forth between Spot unloading, and Crutchie bringing Race over. 

'You say you’re trying to have faith in this place because your dad chose it,’ Davey started, keeping an ear out for Crutchie to finish explaining to Race what they were doing. He stepped back to capture both Spot and Race’s midsections in the frame. 'Can I ask how you came to Punx?’

Race stared at him, then glanced at Spot, and took a deep breath in. 

'Got a job here,’ he nodded. 'Start on Monday.’

'Excited?' 

'Yeah. I’m not sure. I don’t know if I’m anything yet.’

'Where are you from?’

'Manhattan.’

'Manhattan? Lot of people might try and do the reverse, right?’

'Well, y'know. I might go back. But they say everyone leaves the city eventually, right? I’m just… speeding it up.’

'First impression of Punx?’ Davey glanced up as he asked this, noting that Spot was staring up at Race from under his eyelashes rather than using the lull in his own interview to escape. 

'I like it. I think. Everyone’s nice. That might grate, I’m not sure, you know when people are like… TOO nice. It can be a bit much. But uh, no. So far I can see maybe why people spend their whole lives here.’

'People… feel like they don’t have a choice.’ Spot spoke up, in a low voice, now squinting into the distance. 'But they think that’s a good thing.’

'If they think it’s a good thing doesn’t that make it a good thing?’ Davey cast the camera over to where what looked like four generations of one family were spilling into the square. 

'I guess so. Look, Punx gives people a really strong sense of identity, I think, and if that’s the identity that you want, then you’re laughing.’ Spot left it there, glancing down at the floor. 'That enough?’

'That’s great. Thank you.’ He reached out and shook Spot’s hand, then Race’s. Falling asleep with Spot bound to wake up without him meant he’d never actually said bye to him, and as the clock struck seven and Davey found himself drawn towards the square to do the broadcast, he felt a swell of melancholy well up inside him, one that reminded him that not everyone in Punx was unbearably chipper. And Spot was just a guy, he wasn’t here to be a character in Davey’s story. He lived here, he’d be here when they finally left. All of Punx would still be here. 

He passed the camera back to Crutchie and glanced over his shoulder as they walked to see Race and Spot still standing there, talking. Race tentatively extended a hand out, and after a long couple of seconds, Spot shook it.

'Solid shout on the interviewing people, Dave,’ Jack addressed him as Crutchie checked the feed with the Philly studio. 'I think you’ve caught Punx at its Punxiest.’

'Yeah?’

'We got some solid stuff already, and it’s just seven!’

'I hope it stays like that. I wanna edit something together really soon to send back. I just… don’t know how much to expect from the people that live here, is that terrible to say?’

'Nah. Not everyone will have some groundbreaking comment, y'know? I bet not everyone even knows how they really feel about Punx.’

'Let’s hope we haven’t already spoken to the only four people to have any comments.’

'Does this mean we’re staying a little longer after the broadcast?’

'Yeah. I mean. We can play it by ear. If you’re okay with that?’

'I’m way okay with that.’

He stood behind Crutchie as they did the broadcast, arms folded across his chest, watching Jack with a nagging discomfort. He had woken up thinking that he had this. That he had jumped over the obstacles and finally been able to formulate the kind of day that was the opposite of that first day - engage with Punx, look around, don’t wish the day away - but seeing someone else in Jack’s bed wasn’t the kind of thing that happened on a perfect day. It had made him want to turn right around, hide in bed, and start again with a day that didn’t involve him imagining Jack with someone else. 

Plus, there had been numerous other times he’d thought that he’d had it. The day he broke his arm. The one where he kissed Jack. And yet here he was, on Groundhog Day. Again.

But then. It had happened. It had always happened. Even if he didn’t see it. It would always have, and maybe… Maybe he could never know what a perfect day felt like, or what kind of day would end the cycle. He was going into this entirely blind, but the personal leaps and bounds that he had already made in trying to escape this situation made him… almost glad that it had happened? 

He froze, and tears stung his eyes, and a lump materialised in his throat. He hated it, he hated that it was happening. But then, maybe, he hated the person who it had happened to. The angry, tired, frustrated Davey who waited and waited for bad days to make way for the good, instead of trying to formulate good ones for himself. He might not have looked twice at Jack, if all this shit hadn’t happened. Or anyone, really, who wasn’t directly related to his career and its progression. But there was value in the last however many days, despite the fact that he was in exactly the same place every morning. There was value in talking to these people, the ones who lived in Punx all year long, who did Groundhog Day every February - and value in taking a break, and chilling the fuck out. Whatever happened that made this cycle stop, wherever he was with Jack, or with the station, when he woke up on February 3rd, it was probably where he was meant to be, and he realised that he would always have to be thankful that the universe glued him to this day.

The cold gust of wind broke him out of his reverie, and he looked around to see people starting to leave, snow starting to fall, and Crutchie lowering the camera.

'Earth to Dave?’ Jack’s tone was kind, face concerned. He stepped forward and Davey blinked several times, shaking his head.

'Shit, sorry guys. Good job.’ Snow started to fall. Jack lifted his hands up to catch the snow.

'It’s snowing!’

Davey smiled. 'How about we go get some more footage at the diner? Brunch is on the station.’

//

'I cried all night when I moved here. It was for my husband, William, he was born here but we met at college in Rhode Island, you see.’ They sat opposite the old woman in the diner, Jack asking questions, Crutchie filming, Davey watching distantly as he edited together the footage they already had, one earphone in, half-listening to her. 'And I’m from Milwaukee. So not exactly centre of the universe, but not nowhere, you know. And we got here, and I unpacked, and I realised I had forgotten my perfume, the one my mother bought me every Christmas. Left it on the counter at home. Well, William said we can just go out and get you some more. But the nearest department store was a four hour drive. And I just thought… Carla, what are you doing here?’

He stared at the laptop screen, brow furrowed. The people of Punx had come through with the quotes. But it wasn’t quite there. He let out a huge sigh as Jack sat down next to him after winding the interview down.

'How’s it going, Louis Theroux?’

'It’s… Almost. I like it. But I can tell it’s not done.’ He pushed the laptop so Jack could see, and Jack watched it, contemplative, for a few moments. 

'Punx.’

'Punx?’

'Right. Context. Shots of the town, right?’

'Shit, of course! How did I miss that? Can you think of anywhere specific?’

'Yeah! We can just explore too, right, see what we find?’

'Let’s go.’ He stood up, packing his laptop away, trying not to pin too much on the phrase see what we find. They found Crutchie sitting at the counter, deep in conversation with the server. 

'Crutch - sorry to interrupt. We were gonna go get some footage of the scenery.’

'That’s a great idea, guys! Do you mind if I catch you up? I haven’t seen Greta since a year ago!’ He leaned down and grabbed his camera bag from under his stool. Davey took it from him. 

'No problem. Hey, thanks again for doing all this extra filming, I know you wanted to spend the day catching up with people.’

'Nah, c'mon, you guys know this is exactly my cup of tea.’

'It is…’ Jack unzipped the camera bag and switched it on, handing it to Davey. 'Crutchie, tell us how you feel about Punx.’ Crutchie grinned as Davey lifted the camera. 

'Come on guys… You wanna interview locals and stuff.’

'You’re practically a local, man.’

'Well, that’s it. I love Punx.’

'Why?’

'Because it’s… it’s modest. It’s quiet. You come here, and no-one’s trying to prove anything, y'know? No-one shoving anything in your face, no-one trying to outsmart one another, or crap on each other. I just think… it’s a really beautiful town. It’s the perfect antidote to living in a big city.’

'Is that why you make such a huge effort to get to know everyone?’

'Yeah. Well, I do that at home. I just think everyone’s got a whole story - we’ve seen that today, talking to people. But the kinda people that live here. They’re just, somehow, the best of people.' 

'What would you say to people who think that small town living is for small people?’

'I think that every person has the potential to make the best of any place. You’re gonna be the same person whether you live in Punx or Philly, but you’ve gotta know that beauty can be found everywhere. You’ve gotta love life, and life ain’t localised to one spot. I don’t know, maybe you have to see that before you can appreciate where you came from.’

Davey closed his eyes for a moment, and nodded. 'Thanks, Crutchie.' 

'You okay, Dave?’

'Yeah. I just. You got it in one, man.’ He smiled at Crutchie. 'We’ll leave you alone.’

//

They walked away from the bakery. The puppy squirmed in Jack’s arms and Davey placed the second half of the cupcake in Jack’s mouth, re-enacting one of his favourite portions of this day’s previous versions. It felt like years since these events had occurred for the first time, though he always remembered that they would be happening, whether he was here to experience them or in the hotel room ignoring them studiously. Again, they were a pleasant sort of familiar. He could help out, so he was. But he had to let the man fall off the ladder. Because he couldn’t change everything. 

'Shit, that was a wild few minutes,’ Jack quipped as they continued towards the park, after checking that the man was okay. 'I’m so glad you caught that little guy, that was way impressive.’

'What can I say, maybe it’s my calling. I’m kind of thinking…’ He paused as they entered the park, a vast white field peppered with figures playing in the snow, almost too bright to look at. 'We can juxtapose what Spot was saying with this view. And then maybe some shots of the main road, of people going about their business, with what Crutchie was saying about the people here. Put the narratives of that young couple and then the older couple on either side. And Race’s story just in the middle.’

'That sounds like a plan, man.’ Jack kicked at the snow as Davey panned around the landscape. He cleared his throat. 'Davey, about this morning.’

It was almost forgotten. In the sense that it wasn’t at the forefront of his mind in that second. But Jack’s words brought it screaming back.

'This morning?’

'When you saw that person in my bed. I saw you… see him.’

'Oh, I barely…’

'Yeah. Sure. I’m really sorry about it. I know it’s unprofessional, we’re away for business. I just. It’s a bad habit of mine. Or a good habit, depending on how you look at it. And it’s not a secret, that I’m bi, I just, y'know. Never expected to shove it in my producer’s face.’

'You didn’t shove it in my face. I came to your door. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.’ He paused for a second. 'We’ve all done it.’

'Yeah… Yeah. I guess. Thanks.’

A bad habit. Davey understood that. It was that kind of habit that had brought him back to Spot when he was at his lowest. That need for touch, just for someone to pay you attention. Maybe he was filling in the blanks too much, but it was almost reassuring in a way. Jack wasn’t perfect, and he wasn’t in Punx just to be a background character in Davey’s redemption arc, he had his own shit. He was glad, in a way, that Jack had gone as far as acknowledging it, because even though it was technically none of Davey’s business, he almost sort of wanted it to be. He had gone from not caring about Jack, to seeing him in that new light that made it look like the sun shone out of his ass, to maybe seeing that he wasn’t just there to be a solution to Davey’s Groundhog Day crisis. He was just a guy - a hot guy, who slept with strangers, who tried to make jokes to cheer people up even when they didn’t feel like it, and was insecure and hard on himself too. 

Davey found himself overcome with the impulse to take the end of Jack’s scarf and use it to pull him in for a long warm kiss as the snow fell around them in that Punxsutawney park, but swallowed it down, trying yet again to put himself in Jack’s shoes. Maybe they would find themselves back where they were that one amazing day, and maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe it wasn’t about that. 

'So what do you think?' 

'Hmm?

Jack nodded down at the camera. 'Got enough stuff to send to Andy?’

'I… I think so. For now. It’s gonna be like. A first draft, before we ask him to commit.’

'He’ll understand that we did it in less than a day, right?’

'Hopefully.’ He stashed the camera in the bag. 'Do you wanna come help me edit this thing? I mean - not to, like, stop you exploring Punx. But. Your input has been really helpful today.’ He could still ask, right? What, was it illegal for him to want to spend time with the guy he liked? Worst Jack could do was say no.   
God, that would be the worst. 

'Yeah. That sounds fun.' 

They headed back out through the park, and happened upon the broken down car. Again, Davey had found that he’d enjoyed this part of the Good Day, so let Jack take over (remembering with a shiver those words Did it to impress you, wondering if they were conditional, still relevant today.) When they arrived back from the auto shop and the car was back up and running, one of the women got out of the car and placed a hand on Jack’s forearm.

'Now, boys.’ More new. More different. Progress? 'Don’t think we haven’t noticed you all being so nice to all our people. Asking our stories, getting to know us, I mean really! Usually people like you, you just soar through like Punx is the last place you wanna be!’ Davey glanced at the ground then, wondering if he was meant to feel like he was getting told off. 'We love it, we love talking about Punx, and we wanna say thank you for listening. We have a dance every year to celebrate - or commiserate - Phil coming out of his hole, and we’d be honoured if you’d join us tonight.’ Her grip was tight on Jack’s arm, he’d joke about it lightly as they walked away. 

'That’s really sweet, Mrs…’

'O'Dwyer.’

'Mrs. O'Dwyer. I wouldn’t miss it.’ Jack grinned at her. 'Davey, down to boogie with Punxsutawney Phil?’

'Oh, you know it.’ He nodded, answering without thinking, just knowing that he had to go. 'Means a lot, ma'am.’

'You’ll save me a dance?’ Jack directed this at her, and Davey definitely didn’t have a flash of jealousy, because that would be immature.

'Oh, stop it.’ She twinkled at him, a grin creasing her eyes.. 'From six thirty, down at the community centre. Til then!’

They drove away, and Davey and Jack continued back to the hotel, past the bar. Davey winced as he remembered he had business in here as well, and couldn’t tell if he had to go in to stop the fight or not. He’d almost gotten beaten up when he had done it before, and only really got away with it because Jack knew what was going on. But if he didn’t, then someone else would get beat up in his place. Who was to say that, like the man falling off the ladder, it wasn’t just something that was meant to happen? It was like a compulsive ritual, he felt like he had to have all the pieces in place for this day to go right, but he couldn’t figure out how to make this piece fit.

'Dave, you okay?’ Jack was a few steps ahead of where Davey had stopped in his tracks. 

'Yeah. Sorry. Just. Headache, all of a sudden.’ Half true. 

'Oh, dude. Do you wanna duck in here and get some water?’ Jack nodded towards the bar and Davey stared at him, unsure how clearly his desperation to go in had transmitted to Jack.

'Yeah. Good idea.’ He turned around and walked inside with him.

He surveyed what he had seen before. Men everywhere, a group of men in fleeces and fur-lined hats playing pool, a gang of bikers standing in a wide circle, that one fateful pint of beer in its precarious position between them. He watched the man he knew was destined for a fight laugh at something, head thrown back, hacking noises up into the air, and walked forward, towards the bar. Slowly, delicately, he reached the table, and as subtly as he could, pulled it towards him, just a couple of inches. 

He held his breath.

No-one saw.

He took a step back and watched as the pool cue bypassed it, and then the biker turned around, barely seeing the pair of them, before picking up the beer and taking a gulp.

As easy as that.

But now Jack was looking at him weirdly.

’… What?' 

'Hmm?’ He held Jack’s gaze, mind racing for an explanation to the random action. Nothing. Then 'I thought that guy was going to knock the other guy’s drink over. Thought. Just in case.’

'Oh. Good eye.’

//

When they arrived back at the hotel, finally, they sat on Davey’s bed, ready to work. Then two hours passed, and Jack found himself laying against the pillows, keeping an eye on Davey’s laptop screen from where Davey found  _himself_ on his stomach, editing the video together.

'The second one.' 

'Yeah? You sure?’

'Yeah. It’s more… like, it’s… I don’t know, I just like it better.’

Both had been thinking hard for a long time. The video was almost done.  
'I mean, it’s not the final thing, right? He’ll know that this is… But I still wanna… God damn it.’ Davey shut his tired eyes. 'I’m gonna buy our entire video production team dinner when we get back.’

'It’s good, Dave - you’re doing great! Just, don’t think about it too much, right? Let’s take one minute to not think about it, then watch from the beginning. Yeah?’

'Yeah.’ Davey pushed the laptop away. Caring about so many things simultaneously was exhausting. He barely had time to celebrate being in bed… on bed… with Jack again, because this god damn video had to be done. Plus there was the matter of the dance he now had to go to. Somehow he felt like he couldn’t fake the flu and duck out of it like he had with senior prom. 'Excited about this dance thing?’

'Sure! It’ll be something, you know?’

'Totally. I’m looking forward to seeing you dance up a storm with Mrs O'Dwyer.’

'Oh man, you should be.' 

Was this dance his boss level? It was so hard to try and discourage himself from thinking that. He felt like both thinking about it and not thinking about it were equally damaging. 

'You might hate me for saying this… I don’t know…’ Jack stared out the window. 'I’m almost glad we got stuck here, y'know? Like, it feels weird even saying that we are “stuck” here. To think that we were gonna just… race back to Philly. Miss all this stuff.’

'No, I… I know exactly what you mean. It’s been a good day.’

'It has. That dope cupcake.’

'The puppy.’

'Those views in the park.’

'Hearing peoples’ stories.’

'Getting asked out by a car full of old ladies!’

'They didn’t all ask you out!' 

'Ah, they would have. If it wasn’t so cold, they woulda swarmed.’

'I believe you. Your mechanic skills were… very impressive.’ Davey had rolled over on to his back and now gazed up the ceiling, thinking that Jack could take what he said either as a joke or at face value and he would be fine whichever way. A long moment of silence hung between them, which Jack broke.

'Should we watch the thing?’

'Yeah.’ He turned over, and played the video. They watched in silence, the blue glow of the laptop filling up the room that had grown dark around them in the time they’d been working. It was about five minutes long. 

'Dave…’ Jack spoke first. 'It’s good.’ Davey craned his neck to look at Jack, all stretched out on the bed, sleeves rolled up, tie loose.

'Really?’

'Yes! It’s Punx, but it’s like… Like it’s clever, and a different angle, and just. Like. I think you did really, really well with it.’

'You’re not just saying that.’

'No! No, if it was crap - not that it would be - but like, if it was, I’d find a really tactful but transparent way of criticizing it. But I literally don’t need to.’

'Shit. God, I can’t even tell anymore. Do you think I can send it?’

'I think you can send it.’

_Hi Andy._

_While we were stuck here Jack, Crutchie and I decided to do some work on a little feature. We think it could have real value if you decide to develop it. I really hope you like it, because I do_.

He clicked send, and took a deep breath in. 

'Cool.' 

'Cool.' 

He stared at the screen, eyes unfocused, imagining the email pinging across the state. All the energy had sapped out of him and he had barely noticed. Jack let out a yawn.

'When did it get so late?' 

It was four.

'I don’t know…’ Davey murmured, his eyes already half shut. Jack might have replied, but Davey was already almost out of consciousness. Within the next couple of minutes, both of them had fallen asleep. 


	13. The Longest Day part 2

Davey woke with a start, face down on the bed, fully clothed. He looked up. Jack was up at the top of the bed, asleep, one hand resting on his stomach, head tipped to the side. Davey stared. What was today. What was meant to happen. Fuck. What the fuck.

He grabbed for his phone, suddenly overwhelmed by the realisation that waking up with Jack could mean - what if it was? Finally?

5:53pm. His phone screen blasted his sleepy eyes with blue light and bad news. It wasn't over.

It wasn’t over.

He sat up and let himself remember everything that had happened since that morning, that particular Groundhog Day that felt like years ago. Interviewing people. The man in Jack's bed. The walk through the park. The man in Jack's bed. The invite to the dance. The man in Jack's bed. And now this, waking up after napping with Jack. Not quite the same as his fantasy had been, being that it was almost six and they were several feet apart. But something!

He needed to try and get a shower before the thing. It was never any question whether or not he would go, because for once it felt like something completely and utterly different. It felt final. Like the end of _Love Actually_.

If he was Jack, he pondered, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest (and the way his lips were slightly parted, hair a little messy) he'd want to be woken up right now. So he would. Just after one or two more seconds of drinking the sight in.

'Jack,' he whispered, standing up, stretching, walking round. 'Hey.' A soft tap to his arm.

Jack inhaled sharply and his eyebrows shot up. 'What. What's going...' He opened his eyes. Looked at Davey. Looked around the room. Back at Davey. 'Did I fall asleep?'

'Yeah. We both did. It's six.'

'Six when? What day is it?'

'Six pm. Still Groundhog Day.'

'Mmmph. Shit. I'm up.' He heaved himself into a sitting position. 'Time to party.'

'Yeah, you look about ready.'

'Shut up. Dance you into the ground.' He stretched his arms up over his head and Davey definitely didn't sneak a look at his shirt tightening over his chest, and riding up over his stomach (didn't blush at that little bit of skin he'd never seen before, either.) 'I'll tell the Crutchmeister where we're goin'. Like he hasn't been invited eight separate times.' He yawned again. 'And I'll see you downstairs at seven?'

'It's a - a plan.' Muggy with sleep himself, Davey almost let a different word slip out. He gratefully let his attention be drawn by his phone lighting up on the bed between them. An email. He grabbed it. 'It's from Andy. God. Shit. I didn't think I'd be so nervous.'

'Want me to read it?'

'We both can.' He sat down on the bed and Jack sat next to him, both eyeing the screen as he unlocked it.

_Dave. I like it. Send me a final version by Friday morning._

_I am impressed._

He read it five times, distantly aware of Jack slinging an arm round his neck and exclaiming 'Dave!!!'

'Oh god. Oh man, jeez that's such a relief, oh my god!'

'He's impressed! You impressed him!'

'We impressed him!'

'We fucking crushed it! Well done, Davey.'

'I couldn'ta done it without you. And Crutchie. Thanks so much for doing that extra work!'

'Nah, come on. Didn't feel like work. None of this has.' They fell into a long moment of silence. Davey read the email over and over. So did Jack. And after a couple of seconds they seemed to realise simultaneously that they were sitting almost flush side by side, Jack's hand warm and firm on Davey's shoulder. Davey certainly didn't shrug the hand away, stilling, trying to memorise the feeling of being so close to Jack. And Jack left it a little while too. Just a moment. Because he was a touchy guy, and this was normal, but then also because he was sharing this moment with his producer who was actually pretty cool and nice and -

'Well.' Jack sprang up, heading over to the door. 'We're celebrating! See you at seven.' He saluted Davey as he headed out.

Davey stared at the door, back to trying to manage his expectations. Just because Jack had said in the past (present, fucking whenever it was) that he was interested didn't necessarily mean anything. And the fact that they had again spent the day together, had this success together, and were going to a fucking dance together...  Davey didn't want to take away Jack’s agency in how this day ended up, couldn't just rely on the fact Jack may like him - and after all, he had decided, or tried to decide, that this wasn't just about Jack anymore. If at all. But when Jack wrapped an arm around his neck? Seemed almost ecstatic for him? He could do that again. It was one thing to know that this might not be (probably wasn't) about Jack (but.... still maybe maybe might be) but another to actually try and _act_ like he knew it.

He shook his head as he stood up and started to get undressed, tried to focus on the victory.

Andy had said yes! To something Davey had thought of! And sure, he had said yes before - but maybe the thing he had said yes to was actually not what Davey should have been going for. He couldn't remember the words exactly, hadn't he just kind of asked for more? Without putting something in place, without making a suggestion - just asking to not be sent to Punx. And that was clearly wrong.

This felt different, and it had to be.

But.

What would he do if he woke up tomorrow morning to the same thing? He had to consider it. He'd been sure before. But now he was... sure.

He hated to think it but he definitely suspected that he would shut down again. For days. If the unthinkable he was thinking about happened. Total implosion.

'Oh - shit. Ignore me.' Jack was in his room. Hadn't he left? 'I left my - phone. I shoulda knocked -'

He watched Jack dart over to the nightstand and grab his phone, and he sort of tried to cover himself but that was a little hard considering how he was standing in the middle of the room in just a towel. He settled for staying still, arms folded across his stomach, while Jack left in a haste. 'See you-’ He glanced up and caught Davey's eye, then his gaze flickered down, down again, and up, and he cleared his throat. 'Seven. At seven.'

'Yeah.' He flushed painfully hot. When the door closed he covered his face with his hands and let out a low groan, adding that to the list of events that made him scared that today wasn't the perfect day. Victories were adding up, slowly, but jolts like that chipped at what little confidence he'd started to have. He preferred his initial unveiling of his pasty torso to happen in the dark, especially considering what he was fairly sure Jack looked like under his shirt (not that he’d spent a lot of time thinking about it, certainly not – but definitely tan, and toned, and – fuck.)

For all the moments he had felt almost like an expert in whatever the fuck was happening, he still had no fucking clue how it worked. _The only way is to see,_ he told himself over and over as he showered. Act like the days were going to go back to normal, go to sleep, and just see.

He shut off the water and stared at the tiles, not praying, but something close. Telling someone, some being or whoever was listening, that he was sorry, and hopeful, and could maybe have something worth breaking out of this thing for.

But again. Who said that would change anything?

//

The action of descending the stairs in the hotel had a jarring but not entirely unwelcome echo of prom night about it, as Jack waited at the bottom, and watched him come down with a tight smile.

'I keep wondering what kind of night it's gonna be, you know?' He said as he held the front door open for Davey. 'Like... half of me thinks that they've used the word "party" symbolically and it's actually going to be y'know... bingo and knitting. And then the other half thinks we're going to walk into a fricken... crack den. The dark underbelly of Punx.'

'Do you think Punx has a dark underbelly?'

'It'd be fun to try and find it, right?'

'Maybe they have what they think is one and it's just like... a motel room full of people streaming tv illegally. Taking one more painkiller than the recommended dosage.'

'Watching Fifty Shades of Grey with the blinds down?'

'Oh my god, maybe I don't wanna find it.'

'Might be a feature in that?'

'It would be... I guess, interesting, you never know, people in Philly might respond better to something smearing Punx a little.'

'Not smearing if it's true, right? Like how not everyone is going to watch the one we made and love Punx immediately, but. It'll show 'em what they never thought about.'

'You're right. That's exactly... Jack, are you gonna want to do more of these? I mean... You helped me out a lot with this one, and I really admire your skills as a presenter. But I know it's extra work, and you're already full time at the station.'

'Are you kidding?'

'No...'

'I was hoping you'd ask.' He smiled at Davey. 'Cuz that would be dope.'

'Great. Deal.' More time spent with Jack. Score. 'We'll talk in Philly.' He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared ahead, trying to fight the feeling that this was all suddenly going, like, really well, and whether or not that was a good thing or a bad thing. It was just a thing, damn it.

That was why he also wasn't focusing on the way their arms kept brushing as they walked down the street (through several layers of clothes, obviously, but noticeable as fuck) or how they were going together (because they'd been invited together and were both going from the hotel so would obviously walk there together but still... _going together_.) He pushed away thoughts of how the night could go - like, would there be dancing? Pictures? Jack's face illuminated by a whirlwind of rainbow lights as he smiled at Davey from across the room?

Stop it. Shut up.

'Where's Crutchie?'

'He's already there. That or he's still pregaming at some old lady's house. Little scamp.'

'I'm so grateful for him today. His input. You know? You can't fake that kinda love for a place.' Could you?

Wait, could you?

'Yeah, he's one of my favourite people.'

Was that what Davey had done? He quietened, biting his lip. Had he not done basically that? Was he pretending to be this person? He tried to search inside but came up short. How could he tell? He didn't, like, hate Punx anymore, but he wouldn't... LIVE there. And he'd enjoyed talking to people but like... wasn't all of that just done in the interest of getting out of this cycle? Did that just make him shallow, make believe, even exploitative? What if when he got back to Philly everything snapped back? Did he want that?

And Jack. Was he tricking him into liking him? No - he had told him that he'd thought he was hot. He hadn't imagined that. But that didn't mean he liked him as a person - and he probably hadn't. What made Davey think that after weeks of knowing Jack, being snippy, impatient, frustrated, he could just reverse it in what was still essentially one day? And it still might not be who he really was. What kind of entitled bullshit -

'We're here!'

They were in front of the community centre, a plain but vast rectangular building. Music could be heard distantly, some anonymous jazz. Davey blinked several times, shaking his head to try and clear the fog. Did he want to go inside, like really sincerely? Or was it a ruse to try and fix this thing? Because if he was doing it for selfish reasons didn't that mean that it wasn't the right thing to do?

He glanced at Jack. He thought about going in there and dancing with him. Grinning as they showed off cringy moves, disco lights reflecting in Jack's eyes. And he decided that he was fairly sure he actually wanted to go in. Whether or not it was right. He manufactured a smile and turned to Jack.

'Let's do it.'

//

'Dave?'

'Hmm?'

'You're in the. The closet.'

'I'm not, I came out when I was seventeen.'

'No but. Come on.'

'I - yeah.'

'Mind if I join?'

'Be my guest.'

Crutchie took a seat on a giant box of paper towels. The door swung shut behind him.

It had been going well! It had been going fine. It had been going... okay. Like, it would be unrealistic for Davey to suddenly love discos, know how to dance, but when they were invited he was expecting to ride in on a cautious wave of positivity. He thought he'd be in high spirits, not fresh out of an existential crisis. But as soon as he'd stumbled upon that inkling that he might be bluffing, he couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't, what was good and what wasn't. Plus, as the night went on, as he got closer and closer to the end of the day, more nerves gripped him - if this wasn't the way out, what was? Was there even a way out? Would it be years and years, or just eternity of this? How long would this revived fight last, if today wasn't the last day?  He was scared. And he tried to tell himself that the worst thing he could do would be to fret about what had to be done, because then he wasn't really there, and if he wasn't really there then it was right that he was bluffing - but what if he missed a chance to fix this because he was staring at Jack?

He had come close to fun a couple of times. Dad-dancing with Jack after reuniting with Crutchie, a few beers, seeing the people they'd interviewed again in a different environment, being introduced to more people as a result of that - he could almost kid himself that it was all genuine, none of it contrived. But then if something was contrived to be for the best, that had to make it better than when he'd just been himself on that first day. Or been who he used to be, or...

Contrivance tended to have negative connotations, but then - he had made this. Not made it in the sense of y'know, actually making it, planning the party, sending himself on this broadcast, but... this was essentially the opposite of what he thought his trip here would be. He'd orchestrated a day that had seen him at a party he was happy to be at, with someone he was fairly sure he could fall in love with, looking forward to a new creative project back in Philly - when on his first day here, he'd just floated through.

He still couldn't tug his attention away from this assessment of whether or not it was working, or if he could tell, _how_ he might be able to tell, and the longer the night went on the harder it became to concentrate.

Plus the Jack thing.

The fucking Jack thing.

Jack glowed. He was so good at this whole thing, in a way that made Davey wish (even more) that they were actually there as dates so he could just hold Jack's hand the whole time and let him do the talking, and also have that excuse to watch him all night. His ease was enchanting but it threw Davey's own self-consciousness and anxiety way into focus. That, combined with his internal struggle over whether or not to incite something with him, add a dash of fear of Groundhog Day happening again - end result: closet. An hour or so of distracted stammering led him out of the hall, down the corridor, and into the first door that caught his attention.

It wasn't too long until Crutchie found him. Davey was sitting on the ground, leaning against a shelf crammed full of detergent. Crutchie had texted him, a quick _wya dave_ , a message he'd stared at for several minutes before admitting to himself that seeing Crutchie would help, and writing back _second door on left outside hall._

'Everything okay?'

'Oh, yeah. That's why I'm in the closet.'

'Right. Dumb question.'

'No, I'm sorry, Crutchie. I'm being an asshole.'

'What's wrong?'

'I, uh. I'm losing my mind.'

'And what makes you say that?'

'I've been trying so hard to make something meaningful out of this trip... But I've been so selfish. Like, oh my god. I'm using Punx to get a promotion, and I'm pretending to be nice because... I want... Jack.'

Crutchie took a deep breath in. 'Ah. That's some stuff.'

'I feel like I'm so close to maybe getting what I want and I don't deserve it.'

'Dave -'

'And also maybe I'm not close? Who am I to say?'

'Dave! You did important stuff today! Like, was I surprised when you suddenly wanted to document Punx? Course! But, like, you ended up putting love into that documentary whether you wanted to or not. Can't fake love.'

'Yeah you can.'

'Can you? Okay, but like. Think about the man who fakes his symptoms. He's still sick.'

'What?'

'I mean, like - like the fact that you did the stuff, that you made the film, that you've been so great to work with - like, because you did it, that's you. You know?'

'I don't... Know...'

'It took me and Jack a little bit by surprise too. Dave, you've always been nice. Under the surface. You've always been too stressed to actually show everyone, but you can tell it's there. And somehow, being in Punx - don't hate me - maybe brought out the best in you.'

'So when we get back to Philly I'm just gonna go back to how I was?'

'Don't have to. Figure out what's been different in the past day and keep it with you.'

Davey nodded, leaning back against the wall. Of course it wasn't as simple as that. He couldn't take the motivation to break the cycle back to Philly, because being in Philly meant that the cycle would already be broken. But surely he had found something in that motivation?

What had Crutchie said? In the thing -

'Do you really believe it?'

'What?'

'What you said in the interview. About every person being able to make the best of where they are?'

'Well, yeah. Wouldn'ta said it if I didn't.'

'I'm nervous that this is all gonna disappear.'

'That's up to you, Davey. Always been up to you!'

He stared up at Crutchie. 'I like Jack so much. So much.'

'If you told me that yesterday I wouldn't have believed you. Probably same for him, but I shouldn't speak for him.'

'Telling you today?'

'I believe you.'

'And what if I told him?'

'I don't know. That's up to him, right?'

'Right...' If he put one foot wrong, he was sure the whole thing would blow up. And sure, he could try again, and again, and again - but he was so scared that his fight would eventually ebb out of him, especially after a come down from a day as hopeful as this. 'I might ruin everything.'

'Might not.' Crutchie gave him a big smile. 'Last thing, because there's fumes in here, and we're missing the dance, but - he's a good buddy, we've talked a bunch since we've been here. He is noticing you. Okay? He can see how cool you are. He will have noticed that you ducked out. And he's already asked me if you're okay tonight. Cuz he thought you looked anxious. I'm not saying anything. I'm just saying those things.' He gave Davey an exaggerated meaningful stare, eliciting a quiet chuckle, and he offered his hand to help Davey up as he stood. 'Better?'

'Yeah. Better.'

//

'Hey.' He sat down next to Jack, who had just finished dazzling some locals with some story about weather or Philly or something.

'Hey! Invisible man!' Jack pushed a beer towards him. 'Where'd you go?'

'Y'know. Just out. Fresh air.' Stuffy, smelly, janitor's closet air. 'What did I miss?'

'Oh, a bunch. There was like a... like a dance off slash rumble slash mosh pit I think? And like. The mayor gave a little speech. We got a mention.'

'Did we really?'

'Yeah! He was giving it all the... you know, sarcastic "next year's Oscar winner" spiel, but you could tell he really, really liked it. It was nice.'

'That's really sweet!' They shared a smile. Jack shifted his chair an inch closer.

'Hey, are you okay?'

Davey froze for a second, then let out a quiet, nervous laugh. 'Yeah. Yeah, why?'

'Nothing. Seem a little... I don't know, on edge, maybe? I might be talking out of my ass. You can tell me to stop.'

'No, it's fine. I - I think the day is just catching up with me, maybe.' He tapped his fingertips on the neck of his beer bottle. 'Big event. Low energy. You know?'

'Totally. Been there. Don't have to stay, though, right? Today holds up.'

'No, I know. I know. Just. I don't wanna go home yet.'

'I know what you mean.' They both cast an eye over the room.

In that moment of silence Davey thought, as he had so many times that day, that he could just do it, just lean forward that few inches and... but it was like he had been a different person on that day, at the very least a different version, and what made him so sure that Jack would say yes to this one?

'So, um,' Jack mercifully started talking again. 'Tomorrow. Slammed back down to earth. I texted Mendel at the station and he thinks we'll be good to drive back.'

'That's good!' He nodded, both praying that Jack was right and resisting the urge to laugh at how Jack knew so easily that tomorrow would come.

'Do we still have to go in, you think? If we get back at like, lunch?'

'I don't actually know, um. I was always gonna go back there today, if we made it back to Philly y'know?'

'Yeah, totes. Feel like we must be able to wrangle a day off though, right? Driving home from Punx, being stuck here, it's tiring. I bet they'd actually advise us to leave.'

'You think?'

'Yeah! I mean, like. I'm beat. Obviously you are.'

'Obviously?'

'Not in a bad way! I mean - you've been working all day, you fell asleep at four.'

'So did you!'

'I'm exhausted too!'

'So we can write each other's sick notes?'

'Exactly! But like, I think. I've thought for a little while, that you just - like, you need a god damn day off, you know?'

Davey opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, leaning back in his chair and replying instead with a long sigh. 'I don't like taking days off.' That sentence sounded like a relic. A fossil unearthed from who he was before he woke up that morning. An automatic answer - but was it still true? 'You miss stuff, you know.'

'No, I don't. You gotta take some time out, right?'

'One time I took a half day after a couple of all nighters, and when I came in at noon Bob had been put on a project in London. Cuz he raised his hand first. So like. I don't know. When I say it out loud it doesn't sound like a justification, it's just - that's what it is.' He bit his lip. 'That's why I didn't really wanna come in the first place.'

'Can't be in the station every second of every day. Stuff's always gonna happen.'

'I know I'm being irrational.'

'Hey, it makes sense, in a way. But you could make a case for that half day being equally as important as some dumb London thing.'

'You... are right. You're right.'

'I usually am. Some of the best stuff happens when you're outside of the office, I mean, didn't we just prove that today? Like, Dave - excuse me while I get emotional cuz I've had three beers and not enough sleep - but today has been bomb. I thought that the Groundhog Day thing was gonna be a novelty, fun, nice to get away, whatever, but we really crushed the shit out of this thing!' Davey laughed as Jack's voice rose with excitement. 'This video thing is gonna be incredible, we're gonna prove to people at the station that we're a fuckin... dream team.' And if that didn't make Davey's heart swell up. Jack grabbed his shoulder and gestured vaguely with his drink. 'I am so excited about this, Dave.'

Davey glanced down at Jack's hand on his shoulder, and back up at Jack, stomach seizing up with the sheer desperate need for this version to stick. A surge of memories rushed over him, disparate moments from however many Groundhog Days had happened - breaking his arm, sleeping with Spot, shovelling ice cream into his face - like a hurricane of moments that had blown him to this seat, inches from Jack, in the Punxsutawney Community Centre. He'd done things two ways - one, safe in the knowledge that tomorrow wasn't coming, and two, hopeful that it would catalyse an actual new day. The hidden third that he had touched upon tonight, was stuff that he just wanted to do.

'Do you wanna get some air? I wanna get some air.' He stood up, draining his beer.

'Yeah!'

It was a short walk out to the back of the building, not nearly long enough for Davey to decide why exactly he'd invited Jack out there. The orange streetlights around the parking lot reflected off the residual snow, casting a warm, uncanny glow. He leaned back against the wall, taking in a deep breath of fresh air, suddenly aware of how warm it had been inside. Jack paced in front of him, and spoke first.

'Sorry if I spoke out of turn.'

'What? You didn't.'

'When I - it's another bad habit. Word vomit. Giving people unsolicited advice.'

'You don't have to apologise for that. What you said made a lot of sense.'

'You didn't ask for it, though.'

'It's actually... One of the things I like about you.' He felt his cheeks burn. 'You always know what to say. I clam up. You're just. Easy to open up to.' He was ninety percent sure that that was something you could say without it meaning anything. Sure, the phrasing, and the atmosphere heaped meaning on the words (plus the fact that this was Jack) but if he had to, he felt like he could back out of any implications.

'Not always. Only with the right people.' He stopped pacing, turned to face Davey, and looked up at the sky. 'Dave. Last night.' God, that felt like weeks ago. 'Dan. The guy. He - That stuff happens when I have one too many, and just kinda, like... reach for the nearest bit of human contact. It's a totally separate thing from, like, real life. You know?'

'You don't have to justify it, it's fine.'

'No, but - the reason I'm bringing it up again, is like... I wanna ask you to dance. And maybe grab a drink back in Philly. And I want you to know that that's not what I'm trying to do with you.' Davey stared at him, trying to gather his thoughts. 'Unless, um - yeah that was probably a really dumb thing to say. Because we work together and I'm like... assuming shit and I'm fucking, I don't know, high on this whole day. But super unprofessional. As usual!' He remembered one of the first repetitions, when he'd inadvertently told Jack that his shtick seemed fake, and how the way Jack had reacted had maybe hinted at just a little insecurity.

'Jack.'

'And I just, like - don't have any fucking boundaries or whatever, so if I'm putting you in a weird position just say and I'll -'

'Jack.'

'-Throw myself off the roof of this place or something, super inappropriate, I just -'

Davey took a step forward, swallowed the lump in his throat, and took hold of Jack's coat, a lapel in each hand, silencing him.

'I wanna dance with you.' He felt Jack's hands come up and rest on his, pulling him in almost imperceptibly.

'Yeah?'

'Yeah.' But they didn't move.

Jack's eyes scanned over Davey's face, and Davey watched them. His gaze lingered just a sec on Davey's mouth and he seemed to count to three before leaning in and placing a kiss there. Just a quick one, moving away before Davey - who had wondered briefly, desperately, if that was what was he was going for, but was way too nervous to check - could do very much about it. Jack leaned back, face stretched into an apologetic grin.

'I'm sorry.' His hands still rested on Davey's. 'I'm sorry, I'm -'

Davey cut him off by pulling on his coat, tugging it so their chests collided, and picking the kiss back up. Jack let out a muffed, relieved moan as Davey's lips landed on his with irresistible purpose and conviction, and stroked a hand up Davey's neck, resting it on his jaw. Davey felt his knees grow weak as Jack kissed him back, not quite convinced that this could actually be happening, but keen to try and prove it to himself. He had learned not to rely on what felt right, because there had been so many false starts, moments when he had woken up and let himself imagine that it was February 3rd before being greeted with the harsh reality of another fucking Groundhog Day, but - and this was in common with the first time it had happened - kissing Jack was like returning to a home he didn't know he had. And the first time wasn't a fluke - this had to prove it. He and Jack were meant to happen.

They broke apart slowly, sporting hazy smiles, each reassured by the other.

'Sorry.' Davey caught his breath, resting their foreheads together. 'Were you saying something?' Jack let out a quiet laugh, grin spreading over his face.

'Shut up.' Jack stroked a thumb over Davey's bottom lip. 'That was awesome. That was awesome! That was a good call. God, Davey.' He leaned back in, catching Davey's mouth in another kiss as he laughed, running his fingertips over Davey's cheek as he blushed.

'I know.'

'I can't believe I'm kissing you. I can't believe how much I've wanted to kiss you all night.'

'You shoulda done it soon as we got here. Saved us some time.'

'Better late than never, right?' Jack picked up Davey's hands from where they rested on his chest. 'Shit! You're so cold - do you still wanna dance?'

'Yes!'

He pulled Davey inside, and after dropping their coats back at their table and stopping to say hello and goodbye to several rosy cheeked Punxsutawnians, made it to the dancefloor. The music the band was playing was soft jazz, a little upbeat, but low and warm enough to have most people chest to chest. Davey raised their already linked hands to shoulder level and slowly, deliberately, took Jack's waist, holding his breath until Jack stepped forward, sliding a hand up Davey's back, resting his palm where Davey's shoulder met his neck. They swayed. Did a quiet little two-step. They were barely touching, apart from their hands, and the almost imperceptible skimming of Davey's cheek against Jack's hair. He stared over Jack's shoulder, kind of aware of the other people, the band onstage, the music, but mostly aware of Jack's chest next to his, his warm hands, the fact that he was starting to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. He wondered what Jack was thinking.

'This where you expected to be when we rolled into Punx last night?' Jack asked, leaning back a little so he could talk to Davey.

'Not quite, somehow. Thought: Groundhog. Breakfast. Done.'

'Little different, huh?'

'Just a tad.' He smiled as Jack's words sank in, and he thought about what he'd say if someone told him as they arrived in Punx on February 1st, that he'd end up holding Jack like this and praying he'd never have to let go. 'On the whole I'd say an improvement.'

'Yeah? Careful, you flatter me, Dave.'

'Oh, it's not you I'm talking about. We wouldn't have met that puppy if we'd gone straight back.'

'Enough to make that four hour drive worth it,' Jack laughed, and Davey watched him, stunned. He spoke softly.

'I might not have been so reluctant. If I knew.'

'I know what you mean.' He took a deep breath in, tightening his hold on Davey's hand just a little. 'It's so wild how... Like, all the stuff that's happened today has put us here, y'know? It could so easily have not... Like, you making the movie.'

'Us making it.'

'Us making it.' He grinned. 'And then. Exploring Punx. Fixing that car. Getting invited. Everything is so... It's all chance, isn't it?'

'Yeah. It is.' Them both taking jobs at the same station. Being born near each other. Being alive at the same time. Davey could only contrive so much. 'Enough to make you feel helpless.'

'But also really lucky.'

Davey nodded. Jack's proximity was making the words harder and harder.

The house lights flashed on and off a few times and someone onstage said something about a last song.

'Wanna get out of here?' He didn't know what time it was. Didn't care. Jack nodded.

They walked over to get their coats and found Crutchie doing the same. He greeted them with a wide grin.

'Good night, guys?'

'Great night, Crutch,' Jack answered for them both. 'You?'

'The best. These people are so cool! Mrs. Blake is giving me a ride cuz it's slippy out, you guys okay getting back?'

'Yeah. Not far, is it?'

'Exactly. Also the walk through the park? Super romantic!'

They glanced at each other as Crutchie gave them a thumbs up, and Jack reached out and brushed Davey's hand with his own.

'Thanks.'

The walk through the park, true to Crutchie's word, was beautiful - white streetlights illuminating the snow, absolute silence apart from their words and footsteps, and the distinct notion that they were probably the only people in the world. It was over far too soon, however, so before fifteen minutes were up they found themselves standing in front of the door to Davey's hotel room, after two or three attempts at saying goodnight - making out.

In the back of his mind Davey was struggling with how late it was, how sleepy they both were, but also the fact that if he was going to lose tonight to another February 2nd, he was obligated to make the most of having crossed this line with Jack again. In the front of his mind he was thinking about how soft Jack's lips were.

'It's late,' Jack whispered into the kiss. 'I should let you sleep.'

'No you shouldn't.'

'You're right.' He resumed. Davey fumbled behind himself for the door handle and let them into the room, trying not to break the kiss as they walked in.

'J-Jack,' he stammered as Jack took a brief detour to his jaw and neck. 'I don't want to rush anything, but. I want you to stay.'

Jack looked at him, smiled, and nodded. 'Yeah. I'll stay.'

//

Davey's alarm clock went off at six, less than four hours after they had finally settled, too high on the newly discovered territory of touching and kissing to sleep any sooner. Davey had succumbed first, his eyes stinging with tiredness, utterly dead to the world yet still resistant to the night claiming him. Jack followed after not too long, taking a few moments in the dark silence to stare at the fuzzy outline of his colleague, marvel at what had changed in just twenty four hours, and look ahead to everything that this trip had granted him.

In the morning he woke first, leaning over Davey's unconscious form to switch off the alarm as fast as he could. Davey barely stirred, he clearly needed the sleep. Jack lifted up his head, glanced around the room, and let the memories of the night before come back to him - the dance, the feature, Davey, Davey, Davey - before laying his head on Davey's shoulder, syncing up their breathing, and falling back asleep.


	14. Perhaps the Day After

'There we have it, folks, straight from the man himself - six more weeks of winter. Pack up your sun loungers and pull out your thermals. From Punxsutawney PA I've been Jack Kelly, back to you in the studio.' Jack grinned at Crutchie and Davey as he concluded the broadcast. The crowd of people in the square started to disperse as a wind chill rushed through. 'Sucks, man. Phil barely gets to see anyone, shows up on his special day, and it's bad news.'

'I feel like he's probably come to terms with it. It's his job, right?'

'Yeah, but that doesn't make it fun, Dave!'

'At least with the earth getting warmer, it's a little more likely that there'll be good news soon?'

'That's more like it. Every cloud!'

'What have you guys got planned for the rest of the day?' Crutchie shouldered the camera bag and looked between them.

'We have interviews to shoot,' Davey started. 'People to talk to.' He glanced down at the floor and back up at Jack. 'And -'

'And an anniversary to celebrate!' Jack slung an arm round Davey's neck and pressed a kiss to his temple. 'I'll be spending the whole day competing with Punx for his affections.' Davey scowled, blushed, and grabbed Jack's hand, pulling his arm tighter round him.

'Like you could ever compete with Punx.' 

'I knew it! You planned it so your notice at work gave you just enough time to come here!' 

'Shut up! It was a coincidence.'

'I believe you, Davey. Other people wouldn't, but.'

'God. A whole year.' 

'We really crushed it. Gonna be hard to top last years GHD.'

'We can try. That's a reason to keep coming back in itself.'

'I love it. They're gonna rename the holiday after us, I just know it, what do you think, Crutch?'

'For sure.’ Crutchie grinned. ‘Davey peeps out of a motel room, if he sees his shadow then it's six more weeks of -'

'Six more weeks in bed!' Jack exclaimed. 

'You wish.' Davey tried to scowl again but obviously couldn't manage it.  
'I do wish.'

'Shut up. Come on, we've got a lot to do and only a day and a half to do it in.'

They joined the crowd streaming out of the square. Davey thought ahead to the following week, when he'd start the executive producer position (that he'd been headhunted for, not that he liked to focus on that part) (except he absolutely did like focusing on that part) and then even further ahead to the following February 2nd. He didn't know exactly what that day would look like, but he hoped it would look an awful lot like this one.

//

_The year before._

_When he woke up, he couldn't tell. Or rather, he was overcome with a kind of bewilderment that rendered him unable to assess. He was maybe kind of aware that something had shifted - but it took him a while to comprehend anything more than that._

_First of all it was silent. No alarm._

_Second it was bright in the room - sun was streaming in rather than the usual almost-light he woke up to._

_His stomach twisted up as he made those realisations, and he tried to suppress it so he could actually think._

_Was he a little closer to the side of the bed than he usually was?_

_And he was usually wearing something else, right? Usually woke up in a t-shirt and boxers, and now, he was - well, the t-shirt was gone._

_Jack had been there. Oh god, had Jack ever been there._

_But he wasn't now._

_Davey was alone. He was always alone._

_He took a deep breath, trying to calm his heart thumping in his chest as he turned over to look at the alarm clock._

_09:47_

_3-FEB_

_It looked fake. It looked wrong, and weird, because it couldn't possibly be true, February 3rd didn't exist, at least not for him, not anymore - he picked up the alarm clock and held it close to his face, making sure that the 3 was actually a 3 and not a..._

_He dropped it on the floor and rolled over in bed, curling up into a ball and pressing his hands to his face, trying to stifle the tears that had sprung to his eyes. All at once the exhaustion of the past however many days crippled his bones, and a huge weight paradoxically lifted up and away from him._

_February 3rd._

_February. 3rd._

_Back to Philly. To normality - Jesus, okay, what had happened yesterday, what had been the last version?_

_The door opened with a low creak and he sat up in bed to see Jack coming in. He held a tray with two cups of coffee and a plate of croissants on it, and wore Davey's pyjama pants and a timid smile._

_'Hi.' He crossed the room, eyeing Davey as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. 'Sorry if I woke you.'_

_'You didn't.' Davey watched him set the tray on the night stand. 'I thought you'd gone.'_

_'Nope.' Jack rested a knee on the bed, about to get back in, but hesitating. 'Did you want me to?'_

_'No.' Davey drew the comforter back, inviting Jack back in, and relished in the feeling of the bed dipping as Jack got in, the warmth under the cover as he pulled it over himself, that contented cosiness that came from waking up at his own leisure rather than in a blind panic at 6am. All of that was real. He had practised so hard in the last however-fucking-long-it-was, centring himself, telling himself what was real, so it came naturally to him now to focus on the sensations, and they almost overwhelmed him. He started remembering the night before but had to press pause in his head before he combusted. He accepted a cup of coffee from Jack, fingertips brushing over Jack's hands as he took it. 'Thanks.'_

_He had a whole new day ahead of him. A blank canvas. Nothing pre-determined, unless he decided it. It was almost... nerve wracking. Like running into a room with his eyes closed. But that was how it was supposed to be._

_They drank coffee in silence for a little while before he spoke up._

_'You were right.' He glanced over at Jack. 'We should blow off work today.'_

_'Yeah?'_

_'Yeah. No rush.'_

_'What do you want to do instead?'_

_'I don't know. Explore a little more maybe. Drive around. Take our time.'_

_'Taking our time sounds great.' Jack smiled at him. 'We could stay here a little longer too, right?'_

_Davey nodded. 'Yeah.' He held out his hand and Jack took it, linking their fingers together, and lifting it to his mouth where he pressed the gentlest kiss to Davey's knuckles._

_'I almost, um.' Jack shifted closer as he spoke, until they sat with their shoulders touching, legs a little tangled up. 'Almost tried to get out of this, you know. Groundhog Day. I got the impression it was such a... chore.'_

_'What's the verdict?'_

_'Oh, I think I'd do it again. And again, and again.'_

_And Davey almost laughed, or maybe almost cried, but did neither, instead turning his head and leaning in, asking for a kiss which Jack readily provided, sleepy, slow, and langorous._

_'I think you made a good choice.'_

**Author's Note:**

> so I know I said I was doing more of deaf!Davey and I am! and I’m also working on prompts in my inbox! but! this demanded to be written and is the most non-uni work I’ve written in like for ever so I’m rolling with it.  
> second I’m going to be faithful-ish to the movie and show but there’s a couple things. first obv Davey is the producer and Jack’s the forecaster, but Davey is still the Bill Murray character because well I love him and want him to be the protag [couldnt resist the title pun tbqh] also slightly more serious note the movie if you haven’t seen involves a lot of self harm and suicide attempts that will not be present in this!! the thing where he’s eating a lot of dessert probably will be present.  
> third wow I love you guys for reading this and thanks and listen to Groundhog Day because it’s fucking fantastic


End file.
